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Hppletons’ 
Uown an& Country 
Xibrarp 

No. 276 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 










A CORNER 
OF THE WEST 

BY 

w 

EDITH HENRIETTA FOWLER 

» l 

AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG PRETENDERS, 

THE PROFESSOR’S CHILDREN, ETC. 


“ The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want ; 
He makes me down to lie 
In pastures green ; He leadeth me 
The quiet waters by.” 



NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1899 




47028 

Copyright, 1899, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 


A ll rights reserved . 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 



SECOND COPY, 


TO 

THE MEMORY 
OF LAST YEAR 

I DEDICATE 
I s HIS BOOK. 


I 

















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Petronel I 

II. — Lavinia’s DECISION 22 

III. — After long years 44 

IV. — Alison 67 

V. — The picnic 96 

VI. — Learning to sketch 125 

VII. — The postman’s story . . . . . .150 

VIII. — Concerning a school treat .... 172 

IX. — In London 199 

X. — A WEDDING 222 

XI. — The rest of the season 239 

XII. — Home again 264 

XIII. — The wreck 298 

XIV. — The altar of sacrifice 313 

XV. — Conclusion 334 

vii 



A CORNER OF THE WEST 


CHAPTER I 

PETRONEL 

She made a perfect picture in the sunny garden, 
and a quaint, old-fashioned picture, too, as she wan- 
dered up and down the flower-lined paths on some 
mysterious business of her own connected with a 
leaking watering-can and the broken doll which 
was propped up against the sun-dial. The artist, 
who had come all the way from London to paint 
the child’s portrait, stood still and smiled. The lit- 
tle brown shoes and stockings, the crumpled hol- 
land pinafore and big sun-bonnet were just what 
he would have dressed her in himself ; and the sweet 
flower face, with its sky-blue eyes, seemed to be 
hiding itself within white calico petals from the too- 
inquisitive gaze of any outsiders. 

“ Isn’t she a perfect darling?” said her mother 
enthusiastically, and then she ran across the grass 
to where Petronel was playing, and the artist 
frowned, for a Redfern gown completely spoiled his 
picture. 

“ Come and speak to this gentleman who is 

1 


2 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


going to draw and paint you,” said Lady Merri- 
vale persuasively. 

“ I don’t want to be drawn and painted,” an- 
swered her little daughter gravely. 

“ But, darling, think what a pretty picture you 
will make, and it shall be hung in the drawing- 
room ! She is really pretty, isn’t she ? ” turning to 
the artist. “ She has been so clever, you know, in 
having my eyes and mouth, and her father’s nose 
and curly hair.” 

“ I haven’t, Mummy, truly,” interrupted Petro- 
nel ; “ I have only got my own mouth and eyes 
and things.” 

The grown-ups laughed. 

“ She is the strangest child, too,” her mother 
explained, “ with such dreadfully solemn thoughts, 
and awfully interested in religion, and queer things 
like that. And though she looks such a baby she 
is really seven years old. I do hope being so small 
for her age won’t mean she will grow up short and 
stumpy. That would be such a misfortune.” 

“ I suppose she understands everything that is 
said ? ” asked George Lumsden, who was very fond 
of children. 

“ Oh, yes. I should think so ! I never thought 
about it. It doesn’t matter. How will you paint 
her, indoors or out ? ” 

“ Oh, out-of-doors ! ” exclaimed the artist ; “ it 
is a shame to waste any of Devonshire indoors.” 

“ I always find Devonshire dreadfully depress- 
ing,” continued Lady Merrivale ; “ it is so dead- 


PETRONEL 


3 


alive, and I get so tired of the country and that tire- 
some sound of the sea. And the lanes here are 
simply awful. You really have to wear hideous, 
thick boots, or else drive everywhere. Petronel ! ” 
she called, as the child walked away from them, 
“ where are you going? ” 

“ To the wood, Mummy. Fm very busy.” 

“ What will you do now, Mr. Lumsden ? I am 
so sorry there is nobody for you to play with, and 
nothing to play at. That is what makes the spring 
such a stupid time of year. There is nothing for 
men to do. The shooting is all over, and the hunt- 
ing hardly lasts . long enough, and there is no 
cricket, and London is emptied for Easter, and alto- 
gether it is horrid. My husband had to go to Exe- 
ter on some stupid business, which I know would 
have done itself much better without him, only he 
will fuss so about things down here. Landlords 
at home are rather fussy people, don't you think ? ” 
The artist smiled, and her ladyship rattled on. 

“ I am counting the days for the Easter recess 
to be over so that we can go back to town. I can't 
think why Parliament will keep on giving holidays, 
as if the members worked hard enough to want any. 
Bob says they do; but I know he does not. He 
never does anything at the House but write letters 
and smoke and go to sleep. And here we are wast- 
ing a whole splendid piece of April, and even a week 
of May, in this out-of-the-way place. But I quite 
forgot, what are you going to play at to-day ? ” 

“ I will play with Petronel,” said George ; “ but 


4 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


you forget that I have come here to work rather 
than to play. I have my picture to paint.” 

“ Oh ! so you have. It will be dreadfully dull 
for you staying on down here after we have gone 
back. I am so sorry for you.” 

“ You need not be. I have been working hard 
in London all the winter, and it will be a fine thing 
for me having this time in the country, and such a 
country, Lady Merrivale ! ” 

“ It is so tiresome of Dr. Cary not to let me 
take the children up to town with me. I like hav- 
ing Petronel downstairs after tea, and I wanted to 
show lots of my friends the baby.” 

“ London is not very nice for children.” 

“ I suppose not. But I can’t see why. Our 
house overlooks the Park.” 

“ Still the Park is not Devonshire.” 

“ No, thank goodness!” exclaimed Lady Mer- 
rivale fervently. 

“ And Jim Cary is an old friend of mine,” con- 
tinued George ; “ I shall be glad to see something 
of him again.” 

“ He has behaved like a perfect goose in getting 
engaged to Lavinia Garland; but I knew how it 
would be when I found he had come to be old Dr. 
Garland’s partner.” 

“ I had not heard of this,” said George, much 
interested. “ What is the girl like ? ” 

“ Not much like a girl at all, I can tell you. Not 
that she is much more than thirty, but she has the 
primmest, most old-maidish ways I ever saw.” 


TETRONEL 


5 


“ What made him become engaged to her ? ” 

“ Because they had neither of them anything 
else to do, of course. And she has rather pretty 
blue eyes. But the thought of a man with Jim 
Cary's physique, and belonging to such a good old 
sea-faring family as the Carys, settling down in 
Barnscombe as a village doctor, and married to 
Lavinia Garland, makes me positively ill.” 

“ Is he in love with her?” George asked, as he 
opened the gate which led into Petronel's wood. 

“ Not he — and it's all rubbish if he says he is ! 
The fact is,” continued Lady Merrivale, waxing 
confidential, “ that Lavinia fell frightfully in love 
with him, and I suppose he liked it — men generally 
do — and then the people in the village talked, and I 
expect that old termagant, Mrs. Garland, had a fin- 
ger in the pie; anyhow they drifted into an en- 
gagement, a folly which would never have hap- 
pened if Jim had gone to sea as all his fathers did 
before him.” 

“ Why didn't he?” 

“ Because he was another goose,” answered her 
ladyship decisively. “ Do look at Petronel. Isn't 
she too sweet ? ” 

The child stood in the sloping wood with her 
pinafore full of the bluebells she had gathered. 
Bright sunshine flecked the grass all round her, 
and the colour of the wild hyacinths lay like blue 
smoke all down the hillside. Up between the trees 
the blue sky showed deep and clear, and far away 
in glimpses here and there lay the blue sea. But 


6 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Petroners eyes were the purest bit of blue even in 
that landscape. 

“ Here is my picture/’ said George quietly, 
“ only I can never half do justice to it.” 

“ That frock is rather old,” her mother observed 
doubtfully; but the artist laughed at the idea of 
spoiling Petronel with a best frock. 

“ I must go down to the Rectory now about 
those bothering decorations,” said Lady Merrivale. 
“You won’t mind, will you?” 

“ I should like to stay and talk to Petronel,” 
George answered, with a smile. “ I might even 
begin my sketch of her. The colouring is so per- 
fect to-day.” 

“ I like my dirty pinney,” began the child 
gravely, “ because it is out-of-doors’ dirt. Indoors 
is cleaner, but it is not nice like out-of-doors, is 
it?” 

“ Certainly not,” answered the artist. 

“ And I paint pictures, too,” Petronel went on 
confidingly. 

“ Do you know what a picture is ? ” asked 
George. 

The child looked thoughtful. “ A picture is my 
think with a line drawn round it,” she explained. 

“ Yes, that is it, my child,” exclaimed George, 
with delight at the description. “ And, do you 
know, I think you and I will be great friends.” 

“ I have lots of friends. My doll, and the cow- 
boy, and the clockman, and the stable cat, and my 
long-clothes baby, and all the lambs, ’specially the 


PETRONEL 7 

newest ones, and — I can’t hardly remember what a 
lot of friends I have.” 

“ I should like to be one of them.” 

Petronel looked up with a smile. 

“ I have taken quite a fancy to you,” she said 
slowly. “ I think you have such a nice face and a 
kind voice.” 

“ I am glad you think so. I think you have a 
nice face, too.” 

“ Nurse says it is wicked to like your own face.” 

“ Perhaps she is afraid of your becoming vain,” 
suggested the artist. 

Petronel looked serious. 

“ I do think Pm better looking than a frog ; but 
I don’t call that vainness,” she pleaded sweetly. 

And George agreed with her on both points. 

“ I’ve been thinking,” began Petronel, after a 
pause, “ that I would like you to paint my doll’s 
picture, too. Her name is Gladys Rhubarb, and 
I’m afraid she might be lonely if she was left out.” 

“ All right. She shall sit on the branch of a 
tree, and you must watch her so that she doesn’t 
move.” 

So Petronel’s eyes looked up in her portrait, and 
the doll’s likeness was a striking one. It seemed 
unfortunate that, on the very day it was finished, 
the paint-brush fell with a splash of green right on 
to Gladys Rhubarb’s face ; but, with Petronel’s con- 
sent, the artist turned the green paint into fresh 
leaves, and settled to come another time to paint 
the doll on a canvas all by herself, and without the 


8 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


life-size figure of Petronel, standing in the fore- 
ground with her pinafore full of bluebells, an ear- 
nest look on her dear little face, and the colour of 
heaven in her eyes. 

On some of those sweet, spring days when Pet- 
ronel was tired of standing so still, she and George 
would go for a walk together down to the sea, and 
have many interesting talks about kind lions, and 
pretty crocodiles, and the fairy families who lived 
in the rock pools. And the artist learned how the 
pretending people are the really important ones, 
while fathers and mothers are often ranked with 
the sideboard and the drawing-room piano, at least 
in such homes as Petronel’s. And he could not 
imagine how the merry, easy-going squire and his 
frivolous wife had succeeded in having a little puri- 
tan daughter like this, and he wondered who had 
taught the child her depths of more than childish 
lore. 

“ How do you like my long-clothes baby ? ” she 
asked him on the day when he had first been intro- 
duced to the youthful heir of all the Merrivales. 

“ It seems a: nice little thing,” answered George, 
who was not much of an authority. 

“ I wanted one so much I prayed for quite a 
fortnight in my proper prayers. So God sent it, 
you see.” 

“ It is nice for you to be its little sister.” 

But Petronel shook her head at such ignorance. 

“ I am not its sister,” she exclaimed ; “ I am its 
head-mother, and I do hope I shall grow up into a 


PETRONEL 


9 

good, pretty lady, so that my baby may have a nice 
mother.” 

George felt sure she would. 

“ God only sent one night-gown,” she added 
thoughtfully. “ But Mummy can easily buy some 
more from London, and it was very kind of Him 
to remember to send one. You know about Him 
being so kind, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” George answered gravely. “ No 
one was ever so kind and good before.” 

“ And so clever,” added the child loyally. “ I 
never knew all this till about three weeks ago. 
Miss Lavinia Garland told me. I do like to know 
things.” 

“ Did not your mother ever tell you ? ” George 
asked, with a feeling of pity deep down out of sight 
in his masculine heart. 

“ I don’t believe Mummy knows, nor Daddy. 
’Sides I expect they’d call me silly. They always 
do when I’m sad about nice things.” 

“ But why are you sad about nice things?” 
asked her friend, working hard at his canvas to 
catch the pathetic, wistful little look. 

“ I don’t know. But nice things like Alice 
Darnley’s wedding, and singing my favourite hymn 
in church, and being sorry for people I love, all 
make me sad. At Alice Darnley’s wedding I was 
the saddest person in the church.” 

“ But why, dear child ? ” 

“ Because she looked down, and there was so 
many flowers. I was sad all day till I went to old 


IO 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Mrs. Cowan’s funeral after tea, but I enjoyed that 
very much. I love Alice. I wish she was my 
mother.” 

“ Who is Alice Darnley ? ” George asked ab- 
sently, so intent was he on his work. 

“ She dress-maked for almost everybody in 
Barnscombe ’cept Mummy. But now she is too 
rich, and will live at a splendid farm-house and 
have cows of her very own.” 

“ Who else are you sorry for?” continued 
George, who wanted to prolong the sad expression. 

“ I was for Miss Lavinia when her father died, 
and she wore a sad black dress. It made me love 
her so much I always wanted to kiss her. You 
do want to kiss sad people, you know. I don’t 
now, ’cause her dress is gray. I am frightened 
when people cry and I go out of the room, but I 
love them most when they look sad and don’t cry.” 

“ The child is an epicure in emotions,” George 
told his friend Jim Cary, with whom he went to 
smoke his pipe that night. 

The doctor’s face grew grave. 

“ Poor little soul ! The world’s handling will 
be a bit rough for her, I am afraid. And Lady 
Merrivale isn’t much of a mother.” 

“ Petronel often talks of Miss Garland,” con- 
tinued George. He had thought much of Lady 
Merrivale’s history of Jim’s engagement, and he 
wanted to find out the truth. 

“ Lavinia is always good to children,” answered 
the doctor simply — so simply that George was a 


PETRONEL 


II 


little disappointed. He had hoped his friend would 
have ignored the interruption — for when a man 
loves a woman he usually will not talk about her at 
all. But Jim Cary continued: 

“ And children always seem to cling to Lavinia. 
Even her Sunday-school youngsters are devoted to 
her, and there is never a birthday party without 
Lavinia’s being invited. I like a woman to be 
fond of children. It is one of her most beautiful, 
natural instincts.” 

George raised his eyebrows. 

“ Lady Merrivale was right,” he thought to him- 
self, and then he changed the subject. 

“ What made you give up the Navy after all, 
Jim? You were mad on it as a boy.” 

“ Both my elder brothers were lost at sea, and 
my mother could not bear my going after that. It 
would have killed her, I believe, so I had to give 
it up.” 

“ That was a bit rough on a fellow like you ! ” 
And George’s voice was full of sympathy. 

Jim Cary smiled. 

“ I am an enthusiastic doctor now, and I was 
able to give my mother a home for the last five 
years of her life. Besides I still have the sound of 
the sea always in my ears.” 

“ Is that why you stop on down here ? ” 

“ Partly. And also because I love Barnscombe, 
and like to help the quaint, old-world folk whom 
no one else would take the trouble to look 
after.” 


12 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ But think how much higher you would rise in 
your profession in London.” 

“ I am afraid the Carys are not orthodoxly am- 
bitious. I don’t care a rap about making a name 
— my ancestors fortunately did that for me; but I 
care tremendously about being able to give my best 
help to old friends and neighbours who are in need 
of it. It was simply dreadful in Dr. Garland’s life — 
his ideas of the art of healing were bounded by a 
blister and a black draught, and heaps of lives were 
sacrificed that might have been saved. If I am not 
in London, you see, there are plenty others who 
are ; but if I were not down here, the people would 
have to be doctored by the village apothecary.” 

And there came into Jim Cary’s face a glow 
which was not there when he talked of Lavinia. 

“ And the fees?” queried George. 

His friend laughed his big, best laugh. 

“ You ought to be ashamed of yourself — you an 
artist, and to talk like that! Go and paint aider- 
men’s portraits, and advertisements for popular 
soaps, and modern fashion-plates with the heads of 
your lady-friends on the top of them, and then you 
will know more about fees.” 

“ But, joking apart, do you get anything for 
your work? I shall be paid even for a picture of 
Petronel.” 

v “ Oh, yes, I am paid — at least, I suppose I am. 
But I have plenty without, you know. Have you 
heard about my cottage hospital here ? ” 

And the doctor launched forth into an eager 


PETRONEL 


13 


description of his work and schemes for the healing 
of the people of Barnscombe and its wide, outlying 
districts. And George listened, feeling the charm 
of his friend's strong personality, and the breath of 
enthusiasm for ideals, which had from old days 
made the Carys a fine people, whether on sea or 
land. But he also decided that this particular Cary 
— the last representative of that noble race — was 
more in love with his profession than with anything 
or anybody else. 

One day Petronel decided that she and George 
should go and call on Miss Garland. 

“ But would she like me to come too ? ” he asked. 

Petronel looked surprised. 

“ Miss Lavinia always loves people, and is glad 
to see them," she explained. “ She even loves peo- 
ple with big noses. Mrs. Garland has a very big 
nose, but Miss Lavinia loves her." 

“ I have rather a big nose, you see," suggested 
George. 

“ Never mind," said his little friend kindly; 
“ you couldn't help it." 

“ But I am afraid you do not like it?" replied 
George, in mournful tones. 

Petronel was such a dear, delicate, little instru- 
ment to play upon. 

“ I do like it," she hastened to explain, with 
crimson cheeks ; “ but I am very glad it isn't any 
bigger." 

“ Yes, I am glad about that, too," said the ar- 
tist, with a laugh. 


14 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Miss Lavinia is going to teach me the piano, 
now the Rectory governess has gone away. I shall 
like that much better.” 

“ Why?” 

“ Because the one I have now is rather cross, 
you see. She thumps with agony when I play 
wrong notes. ,, 

“ And who will teach you other things now ? ” 

“ I’ve learnt all the other things,” said Petronel 
simply — “ all ’cept just finishing how to read.” 

George Lumsden was growing very fond of his 
small model, she had such a sweet face, and such 
gentle, earnest ways. He thought of her some- 
times as grown up into a beautiful woman, and then 
he was afraid she was too good to grow up at all. 

“ I am not so clever at sums as Kathleen Fane,” 
continued the child, “ but I am jointier in dancing. 
I don’t like Kathleen much, she is so very rough, 
and pinches rather quickly.” 

“ That is extremely naughty,” interpolated 
George. 

“ I am so afraid of roughness. I do hope my 
baby won’t grow up into a rough brother.” 

“ It won’t matter to you, dear, because you are 
so much older than he is. When he is only seven 
you will be fourteen, and quite a big girl.” 

Petronel looked up with a puzzled face. “ Are 
you quite sure of that ? ” she asked doubtfully. 

“ Perfectly,” George assured her. 

After a few minutes’ meditation, Petronel re- 
marked : 


PETRONEL 1 5 

“ I almost wish Kathleen Fane wouldn't go to 
Heaven." 

“ But she won't until she has grown quite gentle 
and good," said George, by way of consolation. 

“ I suppose angels are never rough, nor pinch ? " 

George felt the theological difficulties were 
thickening, so he changed the subject. 

“ Where do you get your frocks ? " he asked. 
“ Does Alice Darnley make them ? " 

“ No ; my nurse. Once I went to a big shop in 
London with Mummy, and she bought me a ready- 
made frock for best." Then, after a moment's 
thought, she added : “ I suppose God makes all the 
ready-made clothes in shops ? " 

Before her friend could reply they reached the 
Old House, where Lavinia Garland lived with her 
mother — a dear, gabled homestead, with a little path 
and wicket-gate into the road, that straggled out 
of the village street, and a huge garden behind, 
sloping down to the meadow where the tiny river 
ran. The orchard was white with blossom, and up 
behind it rose the hill, from which could be seen 
the country round about Barnscombe stretching 
out for miles inland, and bounded on the west by 
the blue Atlantic. 

Lavinia herself was watering the flowers in the 
garden. George looked at her with deep interest. 
A tall, slim, young woman, with a sweet face and 
graceful, willowy figure. In an instant the artist 
knew that she had quantities of fair, fluffy hair 
and large, light blue eyes; that the contour of her 


16 a CORNER OF THE WEST 

face was almost beautiful, and its colouring deli- 
cate and good. Her manner was very gentle, even 
timid, as she advanced to meet them, and her 
voice soft and low. 

“ She is pretty, and womanly, and sweet/' he 
thought to himself, “ but she will never hold Jim." 

“ This is one of my greatest friends," explained 
Petronel, “ who is painting a picture of my doll and 
me. I thought you'd like to see him." 

“ Petronel and her friends are always welcome 
at the Old House," answered Lavinia, with old- 
fashioned courtesy. “ I will call my mother." 

“ I told Mr. Lumsden your honey was very 
nice," continued Petronel. “ Him and me likes 
honey." 

“ You shall have some, my dear," Lavinia prom- 
ised, “ if Mr. Lumsden will be good enough to stay 
for tea." 

“ I should like it immensely," said George, feel- 
ing as if he were suddenly invited to tea in an old- 
fashioned picture book. 

“ Mrs. Garland and Mis s Lavinia has proper tea 
with grace in the dining-room," Petronel confided 
in him. “ They are much nicer than Mummy’s 
kind of teas, what all slip about when you hand 
them." 

Mrs. Garland was delighted to see the artist, and 
welcomed him with the warm hospitality of the 
sunny west country. 

“ So you are painting the child's portrait ? " she 
observed, as she presided over the tea-pot. “ I do 


PETRONEL 


17 


not hold with art and science and such-like 
new-fangled ideas myself, but, for those who do, 
I hear it is a fine thing to paint an Academy 
picture, which Lady Merrivale tells me yours is 
to be.” 

“ I hope so,” said George, spreading bread and 
honey. 

“ Might I go and speak something very impor- 
tant to Eliza in the middle of my tea ? ” asked Pet- 
ronel suddenly. 

“ Will not it do afterwards, my dear? ” said La- 
vinia, “ for I expect Eliza is busy just now.” 

“ And it is not good manners for little girls to 
leave the table in the middle of their teas,” remarked 
Mrs. Garland. 

“ It is very important,” pleaded the child. 

“ What is it you want to say ? ” queried George. 

“ I want to ask her if she likes cats,” Petronel 
explained solemnly. “ Do let me go.” 

George laughed, but Mrs. Garland was as ada- 
mant. 

“ It will do afterwards, my dear,” said Lavinia 
soothingly. 

But the child looked a little sad. It was just 
one of those momentous, questions which she wanted 
settled without delay, only grown-ups are so slow 
to understand these things. 

“ I suppose you have a very busy life in the vil- 
lage here ? ” George asked, by way of making con- 
versation with Lavinia. 

“ Oh, yes ! There are always plenty of people 


1 8 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

to see after, and to take soup and jellies to when 
they are ill. ,, 

“ Lavinia is a wonderful hand at making invalid 
messes for folk,” explained her mother. “ I never 
approve of things between meals myself, but the 
girl is so tender-hearted, and James Cary only en- 
courages her.” 

Lavinia blushed hotly at the mention of her 
lover's name before a stranger. It seemed to her 
a little improper of her mother to introduce it. 

“ I have been sitting with Mrs. Benbow this 
afternoon,” she said softly. “ Poor thing ! She 
suffers dreadfully, and is such a sweet, good 
woman.” 

Petronel stopped in the middle of a bite of cake. 

“ Why does God let good people be hurt? ” she 
asked, with a puzzled look on her dear little face. 

George felt this was beyond his power to solve, 
and looked helplessly at Lavinia. Even Mrs. Gar- 
land hesitated for a reply, and then Petronel herself 
kindly came to the rescue. 

“ Never mind, if you don't know. We can easily 
find out in Child's Guide to Knowledge.” 

And they were all glad to leave it at that. 

“ I suppose you will soon be going back to Lon- 
don now ? ” queried Lavinia, “ for Petronel tells me 
the picture is nearly finished.” 

“ Yes. I shall be sorry.” George could hardly 
realise that clubland and this Old House existed 
in the same country, or even the same century. 
“ Do you know London well ?” 


PETRONEL 


*9 


“ I have stayed there twice/’ explained Mrs. 
Garland ; “ but there were such a lot of folks I did 
not know, I could not get over it. The sights are 
fine, to be sure, but the number of people is aston- 
ishing, all cramped up in a parcel of streets, with 
not so much as an orchard in which to hang out a 
week’s washing. Lavinia went with us the last 
time.” 

“ And what did you think of it ? ” George wanted 
to know. 0 

Oh ! I had a cold in London,” said Lavinia. 

“ I wish,” began Petronel wistfully, “ I knowed 
what is behind the wardrobe in the night-nursery.” 

“ I can tell you, dear child,” replied the artist 
quickly, for he saw the little lines and curves that 
fear drew on Petronel’s face. “ There is only just 
a plain wall.” 

“ I thought there was a big hole,” and she laid 
her tiny hand on his knee and looked up with starry 
eyes, “ a big, black hole full of enemies. That is 
why I take Daddy’s stick to bed with me, , and 
Mummy’s parasol. They would be very useful if 
the enemies came out.” 

“ But there are no enemies,” George hastened to 
assure her. 

“ P’r’aps not now. But they might come in the 
night, you see.” 

“ Little girls should not think of such things,” 
reproved Mrs. Garland, “ but go to sleep with 
the birds and wake up with them.” 

When tea was over George felt somewhat tired 


20 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


of the Garlands. Conversation was such uphill 
work, especially with Lavinia, that he wondered 
afresh how it was that Jim Cary had become en- 
gaged to any one so dull, and shrugged his shoul- 
ders at the prospect of their future married life. 
Still he was wise enough to know that the wonder 
of what lovers see in each other to love can never 
possibly be explained to a third person. It ranks 
with all those other best things in life, which no 
reason can explain and no science prove. 

“ Let you and me go back to our work,” sug- 
gested Petronel, as they walked together across the 
fields which lay between the village and the woods. 
“ I’m in the middle of painting a very exciting pic- 
ture. All the sky is black and the darkest I can 
paint.” 

“ But why such a cloudy sky? ” the artist wanted 
to know. 

Petronel’s voice sank into an awe-stricken 
whisper. 

“.To show there’s a wolf about,” she explained, 
“ a great, savage, wicked wolf what bites.” 

“ You have the artistic temperament, my child,” 
observed George. 

“ What is that ? Is it a pain ? ” 

And Petronel looked anxious. 

“ I am afraid it develops into one sometimes in 
this working-day world of ours,” he replied whim- 
sically. 

“ I don’t feel it yet,” the child assured him, as 
she patted her pinafore. 


PETRONEL 


21 


It was a few days after this that George Lums- 
den’s picture of Petronel was finished. It was with 
great reluctance that he packed up his posses- 
sions and turned his thoughts once more to the far- 
away London which he had left behind him. 

“ Good-bye, little model,” he said half-sadly, as 
the carriage overtook them at the old lodge gates. 
“ Grow up into the dearest, sweetest, prettiest lady 
in the world, if you must grow up at all. But don’t, 
if you can possibly help it.” 

“ I’ll remember,” promised Petronel, holding up 
her flower-face for a kiss, “ and come back soon to 
paint Gladys Rhubarb. Pll be here to meet you 
at the gate, I promise,” and the blue of the sky, 
which was imprisoned by her curling lashes, glowed 
and deepened as she looked up at him. 

“ And here is a new sixpence for luck. What 
will you buy with it ? A toy or chocolates ? ” 

“ I think a toy,” replied Petronel thoughtfully, 
“ for chocolates finish, you see.” 

“ So do most nice things,” added the artist, with 
a sigh. 

“ I feel,” said the child sadly to herself, as the 
carriage drove away, “ as if I wanted to go to tea 
with somebody who is very kind. I think Pll go 
and see Dr. Cary, ’cause he always calls me ‘ dear,’ 
and has bigger kindness than Mrs. Garland or Miss 
Lavinia.” 


CHAPTER II 
lavinia’s decision 

“ I want you to come for a walk with me after 
tea,” said Jim Cary to Lavinia one day not long 
after George Lumsden had left Barnscombe. 

“ If Mother will let me. I know she has some 
sewing she wishes me to do for her, but I dare say 
that can wait till to-morrow.” 

“ It will have to wait,” replied her lover impa- 
tiently. “ I have something I want to talk over 
with you before any more time slips away.” 

Lavinia looked vaguely alarmed. 

“ I must consider Mother’s wishes. Indeed, 
James, I have no choice, as she always insists upon 
my doing so. And I do feel for her so very much 
since Father died. You would not wish me to dis- 
obey her, I know.” 

“ Of course not. But you are making a moun- 
tain out of a molehill. I have only asked you to 
come for a walk with me.” 

“ Forgive me, James, if I have vexed you,” and 
the ready tears started to Lavinia’s eyes. “ It was 
only in my anxiety not to fail in my duty.” 

“ You think too much of your duty — it is posi- 


22 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


23 


tively morbid to dwell so continually on it. Be- 
sides, you would always do it by instinct,” he added, 
in a tenderer tone, “ so don’t worry, Lavinia. And 
you know I am not vexed with you, dear.” 

The sunshine came out again on her face. 

“ You are very kind to me, James.” 

“ And you are to me when your head is not full 
of scruples, and cares, and anxieties innumerable. 
Never mind, when you are my wife I will save you 
from all worries.” 

Lavinia blushed hotly. 

“ Do not speak so,” she whispered, “ it is so 
very overpowering.” 

“ What is ? The thought of being my wife ? ” 
And he smiled at her downcast air. 

“ Oh ! James,” she pleaded, “ you know what I 
mean. Do not tease me. But,” and her voice sank 
so low that he had to stoop down to hear the end 
of her sentence, “ the word — wife — upsets me.” 

Jim Cary laughed as he took her hand in his. 

“ Then I will not tease you,” he promised. 

Then the church clock chimed one, and La- 
vinia flew off, lest she should be a minute late for 
dinner; for during the 'whole thirty years of her 
life she had never dared to keep a single meal wait- 
ing over which her mother presided. 

“ Remember this evening,” he called after her, 
“ I will be at the sandy lane gate at six o’clock.” 

Mrs. Garland was one of those women who had 
ruled in her kingdom with a rod of iron ever since 
the time when she had vowed to “ honour and 


24 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


obey ” her husband. She had made up the late doc- 
tor’s mind for him on every possible question, and 
had given her opinion on every one of his cases. 
And woe to the unhappy man if, owing to his small 
portion of medical knowledge, he ever disagreed 
with her! Her two little daughters she had disci- 
plined with a severity that broke the spirit of the 
younger and doubled that of the elder. They were 
brought up according to the letter as well as the 
spirit of Solomon’s wisdom, and it was only the in- 
nate difference of the girls’ temperaments that made 
Margaret able to withstand and even flourish under 
a system of such vigour as cowed and frightened the 
more delicate Lavinia. And perhaps, too, the yoke 
was unconsciously laid a little less heavily on Mar- 
garet; for her mother had a secret admiration for 
the spirit which possessed the bounding qualities of 
an india-rubber ball, and was never really kept un- 
der by all the rules and penalties of the discipline at 
the Old House. Mrs. Garland had indeed been 
known to go straight from the chastisement of her 
rebellious elder daughter and boast to neighbours of 
the splendid qualities with which Margaret was by 
nature endowed. Her severity was, she firmly be- 
lieved, the grace by which these qualities would be 
further developed. When that grace really came, in 
the guise of a true love between Margaret and a cer- 
tain Charley Royse, whose regiment camped out 
one summer near Barnscombe, Mrs. Garland 
strongly disapproved. Indeed, she was one of the 
many people who feel that they can do God’s work 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


25 


for Him so efficiently — even so much more efficient- 
ly — that they would really rather not trouble Him, 
except in the event of a great emergency. But Mar- 
garet Garland was not the girl to throw away her 
life’s happiness whatever forces might oppose it. 
She was quick to see that her mother’s objection 
to Captain Royse was only a prodigious prejudice 
which she was dressing up as a principle; so, in 
spite of maternal warnings, and many of Lavinia’s 
tears, she married the man she loved, and, for five 
years, life brought her unclouded sunshine — a not 
altogether unworthy total when compared with the 
sum of happiness which many lives can reckon for 
themselves. It also brought her something bet- 
ter even than sunshine — a gradual unfolding of the 
best and tenderest parts of her character, which had 
been hidden and unsuspected in the keen, bracing 
atmosphere at home ; the development and deepen- 
ing of the influence of a true love, which the toils 
and cares of every-day life never tarnished, and 
which was crystallised into eternal perfection by the 
touch of death before it had time to wear common- 
place or to have outlived its first golden ideals. 

Margaret Royse stayed on with her only child 
in the little north country house which had been 
her husband’s home ; and, owing to very delicate 
health, which was the result of her unceasing devo- 
tion to him during his long last illness, she was very 
rarely able to come back to Devonshire. 

With Lavinia, however, things had been quite 
different. Her meekness of disposition, inherited 


26 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


from the pale-eyed little man who was her father, 
was intensified sevenfold by her mother’s upbring- 
ing. The poor child was scolded through the mea- 
sles, and many other infantile ailments, for sickness 
in the young was, in Mrs. Garland’s eyes, very near 
akin to sin. And Lavinia, with unfailing regularity, 
caught every possible disease that her father knew 
of, and her mother forbade. So life was very hard 
to the delicate child, and unending streams of tears 
seemed to have washed all the pink off her cheeks, 
till she looked like a wax doll which has been kissed 
too often. She regarded her elder sister as the most 
daring and wonderful human being that it was pos- 
sible to imagine; but when Margaret married and 
went away, her example and individuality soon 
faded from Lavinia’s realisation, and life settled once 
more into a mere list of duties and penalties, through 
which she wound her way with a never-failing obe- 
dience. The childlike meekness, that accepts un- 
resistingly whatever comes, lasted with Lavinia far 
beyond her childhood’s days. At thirty she would 
no more have dreamed of questioning her father or 
mother’s decisions than at thirteen, nor of deciding 
anything for herself in their presence. 

Without one feeling of discontent, much less 
flash of defiance, she bowed her pretty head to the 
domestic storms, and loved her parents through it 
all as a dutiful daughter should. Her gentleness 
and amiability were stamped upon her face, for char- 
acter draws its own illustrations very quickly after 
five-and-twenty ; and a certain timid shrinking, 


LAVINIA'S DECISION 


27 


such as one sees in an animal that expects a blow, 
first drew Jim Cary to pity and be kind to her. He 
had come to Barnscombe as her father’s partner, 
and to keep up the home to which his mother had 
married in her youth. The strength and vigour of 
the man filled Lavinia’s soul with half-frightened 
admiration, but, when he began to try to help her, 
to fight her battles for her, and be as good to her 
as he was by instinct to every one who was weak 
and suffering, her feelings for him grew into an 
adoration, which, though carefully hidden in the 
depths of her heart, yet brought colour to her face, 
light to her eye, and a quiet gladness to her manner 
— signs which one’s neighbours, especially in the 
country, are quick to read and interpret for their 
own gratification and interest, if for nothing more. 

So talk began in Barnscombe about Lavinia and 
the young doctor, that cruel idle talk that does such 
an infinity of harm, and grows, like some rank weed, 
to choke the flower that might be springing there. 
And the talk at last reached Mrs. Garland’s ears* 
Then was there terrible trouble at the Old House. 
Unfortunately for her mother’s peace of mind, La- 
vinia was now too old to be whipped and sent to 
bed, but a suitable punishment would be forthcom- 
ing all the same. The culprit was condemned to 
days of tears and meditation in her own room, and 
fearful plans were being concocted to banish La- 
vinia from her home, so dearly-loved in spite of all 
she had suffered there, when a little bird, whose 
kind has never been found in any natural history 


28 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


book, told the story to Jim Cary. A perfect pas- 
sion of indignation and of pity overwhelmed him. 
He had never dreamed of marrying Lavinia, nor, 
indeed, thought of marrying any one, but he was not 
going to allow her to suffer like this, especially as 
it was in a way due to his action. He knew that 
he had spoken no word of love, nor given her the 
slightest encouragement, nor done a thing that was 
not in the way of ordinary friendship; but what 
mattered all that, if people talked and thought of 
Lavinia as if he had? He was not going to stand 
it, and if there was only one way out of the diffi- 
culty he would take that way. Besides, Lavinia 
was a sweet young woman, and a pretty young 
woman, and a good young woman, and if she were 
willing to marry him he would find in her an ideal 
wife. So Jim, being fairly young and not in love, 
argued with himself; and actually imagined that 
men marry girls because they possess certain at- 
tributes, and seem as if they would grow into ideal 
wives. He did not know then that a man meets 
his ideal woman ready-made, and he can hardly tell 
what her attributes are, and never thinks about what 
she might grow into, because he knows she is per- 
fect as she is. So Jim Cary straightway went down 
to the Old House, and there bearded Mrs. Garland 
in her den with a manly courage that almost de- 
prived Lavinia of breath. 

Before he went home again they were engaged 
to be married, and the sunshine — which sometimes 
shines so brightly on the heels of a storm — flooded 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


2 9 


the Old House; and Lavinia was no longer a 
naughty child in disgrace, but a much-honoured 
daughter whom the best representative of mankind 
in Barnscombe intended to marry. For this won- 
derful change Lavinia gave Jim Cary her deepest 
gratitude and admiring affection, and as long as 
she did not see him too often — an event which al- 
ways left her overpowered with a sense of her own 
inferiority to his wonderful personality — she was 
perfectly happy and content. Her mother never bul- 
lied her again, and though the old habits of obedi- 
ence still hung about her, she was no longer fright- 
ened and fettered in every thought and action. For 
Mrs. Garland accepted the fact that Lavinia had in 
a measure grown up at last, or else Jim Cary would 
never have proposed to her; and so the old disci- 
pline was in its turn finally laid aside together with 
the spelling-books and birch rods of earlier days. 
And in this new life Lavinia had no further wishes. 
She loved her home, and her bees, and her flowers, 
and her little domestic duties, and the tiny interests 
of a country parish, and the man who had insured 
her so much happiness therein. The thought of 
things ever being different frightened her, espe- 
cially the thought of ever becoming Mrs. Cary — 
but she had a vague and comforting hope that their 
engagement might last for many years, and so she 
would have time to grow more worthy of such a 
great and difficult position. Jim Cary, however, 
was not so content. He had begun to feel that they 
had been engaged quite long enough, and though 


30 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


he waited patiently until Lavinia had ceased out- 
wardly to mourn for her father, who died the year 
after their engagement was announced, he then de- 
cided that he owed it to Lavinia to bring the pres- 
ent state of things to an end, and to let them begin 
life again together. 

A six o'clock he stood waiting for her at the 
gate, and very soon he saw the slim, white figure 
coming across the field. 

Lavinia had never looked so pretty in her life 
as she did that evening. Her fresh muslin dress, 
with a bunch of pink roses at her waist, brought out 
her delicate colouring, and gave her the appearance 
of some sweet flower itself. The low-lying sun- 
light burnished her fair hair with a glory it lacked 
of itself, and just touched her face with a pinker 
light than her pale cheeks usually could boast. 
Jim's pulses quickened as he saw how fair she 
looked, and he went to meet her with a tender- 
er look in his eyes than had ever been there be- 
fore. 

“ I am so glad you came," he said, with a proud 
smile of possession. “ And how nice you look, 
dear!" 

She glanced up at him shyly. 

“ I am pleased you like my dress, James." 

“ I like what is in it a great deal better. It is 
you, not your dress, I admire so much." 

“ Oh, no! You are mistaken. You would not 
think I looked nice if I had on my shabby, old morn- 
ing gown and my cooking-apron," which was per- 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


31 

fectly true, only Lavinia was foolish to remind him 
of it. 

“ Cooking-apron, indeed ! ” he answered impa- 
tiently ; “ you shall never wear such a thing when 
your home is mine. ,, 

“ But, James, I like to help a little in the kitchen 
on busy mornings. I can do some things very 
nicely, Mother says.” 

“ You shall never be a household drudge for me. 
I should hate the idea of your toiling in a hot kitchen 
for such a paltry thing as my dinner, and roughen- 
ing your pretty hands for the sake of a pudding or 
a cake. No, Lavinia — if I could not afford to save 
my wife from hard work, I would never have one.” 

Lavinia was silent. It was for Jim to lay down 
the law, and for her to obey it ; still, she felt a pang 
of regret at the thought of how her little culinary 
accomplishments would be wasted. 

“ Mother was very kind about letting me come,” 
she said, as they strolled together down the sandy 
lane that led to the shore. 

“ Letting you come ! ” And he laughed half- 
scornfully. “ You belong to me, you know, and if 
you wanted to come, because I wanted you to, noth- 
ing or nobody shall prevent you.” 

“ Oh, James ; how recklessly you speak ! I 
never can feel able to do things on my own ac- 
count.” 

“ Then you shall on mine.” 

“ If Mother approves,” she answered softly. 

Now Jim Cary was a very human man, and this 


32 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


constant introduction of his future mother-in-law’s 
authority into all his suggestions, he found decid- 
edly irritating. He rather liked Mrs. Garland, in 
her proper place, and was quite equal to her en- 
counters ; but he did not like the way in which La- 
vinia always placed his wishes second in her esti- 
mation, while her mother’s whims were first. 

So words of impatience rose to his lips, but 
when he looked down on the girl beside him, and 
saw how gentle and timid she was, and with what 
pleading eyes she was watching his face, the feel- 
ing of vexation vanished, and he stooped and kissed 
her as she stood, and said very gently: 

“ I want you to fix our wedding-day to-night. 
Time is slipping away, and we must waste no more 
of it. So tell me, dear, how soon you can be ready, 
and I will do my best to make you happy.” 

Lavinia burst into tears, and Jim looked dis- 
tressed. 

“ What is the matter?” he begged her to tell 
him. 

But she sobbed on, her face buried in her hands. 

“ Does the thought of marrying me make you 
so unhappy ? ” he asked earnestly ; “ don’t you love 
me, Lavinia ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” in muffled tones. “ I think so. 
But — but — ” and her reason was choked with tears. 

“ Tell me,” he whispered, putting his arm ten- 
derly round her willowy waist, “ and I promise to 
help you, if I can.” 

“ I am so upset,” she murmured. 


LAVINIA'S DECISION 


33 

“ Foolish girl ! You must not be upset because 
I want to claim the love you have given me.” 

“ And — and Mother would be angry at your 
kissing me out of doors ! ” 

Jim smiled. 

“ I will take the blame. But tell me, when will 
you give me the right to save you from all blame, 
and have you for my very own ? ” 

“ Oh, James, I cannot yet. I must not leave 
my Mother now she is alone.” 

“ But you will be near her. And you have al- 
ready stayed with her for more than a year since 
your father died.” 

“ But a year is such a little time, and she will be 
so lonely.” 

“ A year is a long time, Lavinia. And I, too, 
shall be lonely without you.” 

“ But I feel it is my duty, James, to stay with 
her. Oh, do not tempt me away ! ” 

“ Have you no duty to me ? ” and his voice rang 
rather sadly — “ the man whom you have promised 
to marry, and who has already waited for you so 
long?” 

“ Why, James, it seems but yesterday that we 
became engaged. And,” with a fresh flood of tears, 
“ I am so happy as I am. Please don’t spoil it all.” 

Jim Cary looked at her curiously. 

“ When may I speak then ? ” he asked. 

“ Not yet, James ; please not yet. I am not 
ready.” 

“ But I am. Ready and waiting long enough 


34 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


ago. And I feel the time has come for me to make 
this change.” 

“ And Mother cannot spare me/’ she continued 
tremulously. “ Oh, James, please do not make 
me ! 

“ I would never make any woman marry me 
against her will, Lavinia. You mistake me if you 
imagine that.” 

“ And do not be angry with me. I cannot help 
it, really. Your speaking in this way to-night is 
so sudden.” 

“ I have been wanting to speak for a long while ; 
but I thought you would rather I waited until you 
had left oft your mourning. But now there is noth- 
ing more to wait for — if ever we are to be married ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! There is. I must have time to 
grow more fitted to be your wife.” 

“ No, dear. I want you to be my wife just as 
you are. For nobody would ever do anything if 
they waited to be perfect before doing so.” 

“ It is my duty to stay with, and care for, my 
mother. I cannot, cannot leave her yet ! ” she re- 
peated vehemently. 

“ Then when will you leave her, Lavinia? When 
will things be different ? ” 

“ Oh ! I cannot tell. Do not be so unkind to 
me, James; I cannot bear it.” 

“ Unkind to you, dear ! What are you thinking 
of? Is it unkind to want you so much?” 

“ Oh, no ! But it is unkind to press me so 
against my duty, when you know how weak I am.” 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


35 

“ What do you want me to do then, Lavinia ? ” 
he asked very gravely. “ You know I wish to do 
what is best for you.” 

“ Do not speak of marrying yet,” she begged 
him. 

“ Is it because you do not love me enough ? Do 
you wish our engagement broken off ? ” 

“ Oh, James ! ” cried the girl, clinging to his 
arm in a renewed burst of grief, “ it will kill me 
if you speak like that! What shall I do? What 
shall I do ? ” And he felt her whole frame shaking 
with her sobs. 

“ Hush, dear, hush ! ” trying to soothe her. “ I 
will not distress you any more. Tell me what you. 
wish me to do, and I will do it.” 

“ Leave things as they are. Please do. I am 
so happy in them. And promise me that you will 
not speak of these things again until — until I ask 
you to myself.” 

Jim Cary looked at her pleading, tear-stained 
face, and he saw the trouble in her eyes. He hated 
to hurt her, as he would any creature weaker than 
himself. So when she begged again, “ Please prom- 
ise, James ! ” he said solemnly : 

“ Very well, dear, I promise.” 

But he did not kiss her again. His manner dur- 
ing the rest of their walk was quiet and gentle, and 
he talked of the simple things that always interested 
Lavinia, till her smiles came back, and she rose like 
some harebell, apparently crushed underfoot, but 
really unbroken and unhurt. 


36 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

“ Good-bye, James/’ she whispered at the wick- 
et-gate when they parted, for the doctor would not 
come in to supper that evening ; “ I am so pleased 
things are all right again, and you are not angry 
with me. You are very kind to me, and I am so 
happy that nothing is changed.” 

“ I am glad you are happy,” he said slowly, as 
he turned away. * 

And so he was ; but things were changed for all 
that, though Lavinia never saw it. Jim Cary pos- 
sessed the artistic temperament to such an extent 
that he would have taken the humdrum little ro- 
mance that circumstances had fixed upon him, and 
tended it so carefully and tenderly that it might one 
day have blossomed into a beautiful flower. And 
so Lavinia’s life might have been also blessed and 
enriched. But when she made him give her that 
promise she robbed herself and him of the best that 
was possible in their knowledge of each other. She 
chilled his affection for her, which had never risen 
so high as \yhen they started on that walk together, 
with so unexpected a wave of cold, that it never 
really recovered. It hurt him considerably to take 
her at her word, but he had promised, and Jim 
Cary’s promises were made of unbreakable stuff. 
Slowly but surely the imperceptible change crept in. 
Jim no longer looked at his home with eyes that 
saw Lavinia’s form presiding at his table, and sit- 
ting by his fire, and filling every room with her 
gentle presence. He ceased to look forward to a 
new life, which she would share with him, and to 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


37 


wonder how best he could make that life a perfect 
one. He began to think more of his patients and 
less of Lavinia, and the new thoughts were almost 
as interesting to him as the old. His house grew 
fuller of books and works of art, and he found that 
it made quite a happy home, and the garden was 
very good in which to spend the few spare mo- 
ments that he could find him in a full day's work. 
It was nice to know that Lavinia was his friend, 
and that he had an interest in his engagement to 
her, which he enjoyed when he had leisure to do so, 
and he felt that as she was happy in the present 
state of things, he would be happy too. 

And Lavinia was happy — far happier than she 
had been in the first year of her engagement. She 
was no longer so much afraid of Jim, for he ceased 
talking to her of himself and her, and such talk 
had always embarrassed and made her nervous. 
Lavinia liked to talk of what she did, never of what 
she felt; of the little outside world, and not of the 
great soul-world inside. And when Jim stopped 
trying to take her with him in these flights of fancy 
and of feeling and of thought, which left her so 
breathless before, she began to be more at home 
with him, and to look forward to their meetings 
with a quiet joy. 

“ Do you know, Mother," she began one even- 
ing, as they sat over their work in the quaint little 
drawing-room, which it seemed a shame to call any- 
thing but a parlour, “ I find James a much more 
congenial companion than I used." 


38 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ And a good thing, too, my dear ! If folks do 
not grow more congenial to one another, they grow 
less so, and that is a poor look-out for those who 
are engaged to be married.” 

“ I cannot help feeling that he is improved, 
though of course it is presumptuous of me even to 
think that James could be improved.” 

“ Presumptuous, indeed ! Pack of rubbish ! I 
should like to see the man who could not be 
improved, but I reckon it will have to be 
in the next world that I look out for him. 
Why, my dear, I never lost a day without try- 
ing to improve your poor father, and he was 
but faulty at the end. Men take a lot of improv- 
ing, and, in most cases, it is trouble thrown 
away.” 

“ I think perhaps improved was hardly the right 
word to have used. You see, Mother, he is always 
so wonderfully clever; but somehow, lately, he has 
seemed more sensible as well.” 

“ Sense is a rare quality among men. Your fa- 
ther never had a morsel. I often wonder whatever 
he would have done without me. Died in the work- 
house as likely as not.” 

“ I may have been mistaken,” continued Lavinia, 
“ for I know so little about the ways of men. But 
sometimes, very rarely, it seemed to me he did say 
rather silly things.” 

“ What kind of things ? ” demanded her mother, 
with interest. 

“ Oh, I could not repeat them ! It would be 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


39 

disloyal. But the kind of things I could not im- 
agine my father saying.” 

“ Love-making rubbish, I suppose ? I never al- 
lowed anything of the kind.” 

“ They did not seem silly when he said them, 
but afterwards, when I used to repeat them to my- 
self, they were. At least I used to think you would 
call them so.” 

“ More likely than not, my dear.” 

“ So I am very thankful he never does now. 
And all his conversation is so much nicer — do not 
you think so, Mother ? ” 

“ He is a fine talker, is Jim Cary ! The Carys 
always were. I like the man very well in his way, 
and you must remember you are more fortunate 
than you deserve, Lavinia.” 

“ Oh, yes, Mother ! I know. It was not in a 
discontented spirit I spoke, but in one of great grati- 
tude.” 

“ And well you might. The Carys are one of 
the oldest families in Devonshire, and here is James, 
such a clever, attractive man, who might have mar- 
ried any one, engaged to you, Lavinia. It fairly 
amazes me ! ” 

“ I have indeed much to be thankful for,” mur- 
mured her daughter, puckering her smooth brows 
over the picking up of a dropped stitch in her 
knitting. 

Now, it never occurred to Mrs. Garland that the 
match she was surprised at was in reality of her own 
making. It was true she had not tried to catch the 


40 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


young doctor, as she had always considered that if 
her daughters should desire to get married, they 
would be guilty of an impropriety and undutifulness 
which she would do all in her power to correct. 
Time and Margaret had taught her a different les- 
son, but she had expected distinctly better things 
of the meek Lavinia. And it would have amazed 
her had she known the truth, that it was entirely 
her severity with the girl that had brought Jim for- 
ward as a lover, moved by the pity which is only 
akin to the feeling he professed. After awhile, how- 
ever, she settled down to the fact, and began to en- 
joy the intercourse with Jim Cary that the engage- 
ment involved. 

“ You see, Mother, it makes it much easier now 
I understand James so much better. He used to 
speak of such strange things that I felt quite in a 
maze. But it is so nice and comfortable to have 
him to tell how many eggs the fowls have laid in a 
week, and to consult him about the bees, and to 
ask his advice about my Sunday-school class. His 
opinion is so very valuable, and he listens so read- 
ily and makes up his mind so quickly about things/' 

“ He comes of a self-opinionated race, my dear.. 
The Carys have never been at a loss yet for a will 
of their own. And James is a Cary down to the 
ground he will be buried in.” 

“ Oh, Mother ! Do not say such dreadful things. 
It makes me shiver to speak of burials.” 

“ Pack of nonsense, Lavinia ! It is what we 
shall all come to, and the sooner we make up our 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


41 


minds to it the better. I have no patience with such 
sentimental rubbish. 4 Man is born to trouble as 
the sparks fly upwards/ so what is the use of mak- 
ing a fuss about it ? ” and the good lady smiled plac- 
idly over the woes of mankind. 

“ But we need not think of it, Mother.” 

“ That is you all over. Putting off whatever 
has got to be done, and then frightened into a blue 
moon because you are not ready. I hope I shall 
not be there to see it, Lavinia ; but there will be as 
much worry over your deathbed as any I have ever 
presided at. I can see you now screaming and 
fainting until there is no doing anything with you. 
May you be taken unawares in your sleep, is what 
I hope, for the sake of those about you.” 

“ I cannot help feeling afraid of so many things,” 
apologised Lavinia humbly. 

“ How I ever had a child like you is a puzzle 
to me, my dear. But it comes of marrying such a 
man as your poor father. His very muscles were 
made of wet rag, as it were, and his nerves no 
stronger than fish bones. Why, many's the time I 
have seen him quite upset by just a simple, ordi- 
nary, village death. He was not fit to be a doctor 
— indeed it would be difficult to say what he would 
have been fit for. And you take after him aston- 
ishingly, Lavinia.” 

“ Yes, Mother,” replied her daughter meekly. 
“ I have often heard you say so. Poor Father ! ” 

“ It is a misfortune for you, Lavinia, I allow. 
But you give way to it too much.” 

4 


42 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ That is what James says. But he does not 
understand fear.” 

“ I do not blame you,” continued her mother, 
“ for being afraid of pestilences and earthquakes and 
my displeasure and such-like — but when you are so 
frightened of every little thing, as if it were a mouse, 
it is really foolish of you.” 

“ I know,” and Lavinia spoke sadly, “ but I can- 
not alter myself. It is too late now.” 

“ My dear, it is never too late to alter ourselves 
for the better — and it is nonsense to say we cannot 
do things that we can.” 

“ But you are so clever ! It is different with 
me.” 

“ There are three things that we can always 
make the best of, however clever or the reverse we 
may be, and those are ourselves, our circumstances, 
and other people. Never forget that, Lavinia, and 
you will be a happy woman.” 

“ Yes, Mother dear, I will try.” 

And when Lavinia went up to bed that night 
she leaned through the latticed window and stood 
for a while drinking in the pure, night air, and think- 
ing over what her mother had told her about her 
own shortcomings. 

“ It is very kind of James to care for me,” she 
mused — not knowing that when people really care 
it is not kind at all. “ And I am far happier than 
I deserve to be in this much-loved home, and with 
such a good mother to take care of me. I will try 
to be more worthy of it all.” And then her thoughts 


LAVINIA’S DECISION 


43 


wandered to the fowl-pen and the bee-hive, and she 
looked out at the great wonder of the night, and saw 
only the shadows of the buildings and the gate 
which shut in almost the whole of her tiny world. 
The great silence brought her no message from 
God; no yearning after a deeper life than can be 
expressed in words ; no soothing touch of a healing 
Hand laid gently on earth’s cares and worries. For 
as yet Lavinia knew not that she had need of these 
things. She only felt that it was bedtime, and with 
a smile of perfect content, she knelt down to say the 
same simple prayers she had always said since she 
was a child, and so was blessed, only as a child, be- 
fore she fell asleep. 


CHAPTER III 


AFTER LONG YEARS 

It was nearly nine years since Petronel’s por- 
trait had hung in the Academy, and brought its 
painter so much fame. Nine years of hard work 
to George Lumsden as he steadily advanced in the 
way of success, and was filled with the exhilara- 
tion of drawing nearer to a goal before actually at- 
taining it. There is no happier time in the profes- 
sional life of any man, for in all human nature the 
progressive instinct is strong. Standing still brings 
no real rest and is indeed an impossible attitude for 
any length of time. There must be movement 
backwards or forwards, and the man is an aver- 
agely happy one whose onward movement is an up- 
ward movement, too ; who climbs each year up the 
ladder of his work and enlarges his powers of hand 
and head by the greater demand he is ever making 
on them. A few are content with a higher ideal 
to seek after, which is out of sight to the dim-eyed 
sons of men — a few who find earth’s ways a little 
dull and would mount up on wings as eagles into 
that rarer atmosphere which is the soul’s native air, 
and who find their reward in reaching the heights 


44 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


45 

of beauty of thought and feeling, of hope and faith. 
Thrice happy are these. 

Now George Lumsden was an artist of the best 
type, and his picture of Petronel Merrivale indi- 
cated that at the very beginning of his career. The 
beauty of her surroundings was transferred to Bur- 
lington House with a skill that brought a breath of 
spring laden with the scent of the bluebells right 
into the heart of London — and the beauty of the 
child's dawning soul was portrayed with even 
greater and far deeper skill. The undeveloped pos- 
sibilities of such a nature as hers were shown in 
some subtle way, so that any one who could, might 
read them. And the artist's secret was that in that 
spring of long ago he had made a friend as well as 
a model of the child, and in learning to love Petro- 
nel he learned the only way of really understanding 
her, and of seeing that deeper thing which is the 
soul of any picture, and must be there to vivify a 
work that shall live. From time to time he thought 
of the dear child with almost reverent affection ; 
and when after long years he was once again pass- 
ing through the old west country district in which 
was Petronel's home, he could not resist halting on 
his journey and going back to Barnscombe to learn 
what tidings time would have to tell him of his old 
friends there. 

It all looked just the same as before, for villas 
do not grow so quickly on the Devonshire soil as 
in the atmosphere of a smoky town, and nine years, 
when we look backwards, is not so very long after 


46 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


all. The same soft, sweet air blew in his face, and 
the cool wind was laden with the fresh, salt smell of 
the sea. The way was lined by the familiar flowers 
which he and Petronel had gathered on a May-day 
of long ago ; and funny little companies of children, 
dressed apparently in coloured paper, were wander- 
ing about the village with a tawdry May-pole, sing- 
ing unintelligible songs in their high, shrill voices. 
George hurried on to the Court, where he almost 
expected to see the little figure in pinafore and sun- 
bonnet gathering bluebells once again in the wood. 
He looked across the stream to the doctor's cot- 
tage hospital, and noted that the ivy and Virginia 
creeper were having a race as to which should cover 
it first. The window boxes were bright with hya- 
cinths, and the cowslips made yellow patches all 
along the path beyond. But he could not wait to 
see Jim Cary then. The shortest cut to the Court 
was through the churchyard, and, as George walked 
across it, his heart suddenly stood still, for there, 
right in front of him, was a small white cross, and on 
it he read the simple word “ Petronel." No date, no 
details, but the length of the little green mound 
told its own story, and a few patches of lichen cling- 
ing to the foot of the cross. A great wave of regret 
swept over George Lumsden at the thought that 
his dear child-friend was lost to him for ever. It 
was no use his hurrying to the Court now — every- 
thing was different in spite of its all looking the 
same. Who of us does not know the pang of that ir- 
revocable difference that falls over the most familiar* 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


47 


things when we come back amongst them alone? 
So George waited by the tiny grave and thought 
of the child as she filled her pinafore with bluebells 
in that long-ago spring-time. And he smiled sadly 
at the thought that after all Petronel would have 
had a good time in Heaven before Kathleen Fane 
was ready to joint her there. He pictured the 
merry squire sobered by the loss of his only daugh- 
ter, and the frivolous mother taught wisdom in a 
school of sorrow. He pitied the baby for missing 
the knowledge of its dear little “ head-mother,” and 
wondered whether the boy would look at him 
through Petronel’s blue eyes. He felt a pang of 
unreasonable irritation against Jim Cary for not 
being able, as a doctor, to save that little life, and 
he wished he had never come to Barnscombe again 
to keep the tryst he had made in fun with Petronel 
when he said good-bye'to her at the old lodge gates. 

“ Perhaps I had better call there, as I have come 
so far,” he thought listlessly, turning at last away. 
As he skirted the old wood, where they used to 
play together, he almost hated the mass of wild 
hyacinths for looking so bright and blue, and every- 
where there rose before him the ghost of a little 
white cross, with its one carved word, “ Petronel.” 

In the sadness of his mood the sound of cheer- 
ful voices jarred, and as he turned the corner he 
saw a crowd of smart people on the croquet lawn, 
and heard roars of laughter from a group of young 
men, who were evidently teaching a long-legged 
schoolgirl how to smoke. She sat on the back of 


48 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


a garden seat, swinging her legs, and resolutely 
holding a cigarette between her teeth. Her hat was 
tilted on one side, her hands were in her jacket 
pockets, and her voice sounded sharp and impu- 
dent as she spoke to her friends between the whiffs. 

George Lumsden shrugged his shoulders and 
looked away. Lady Merrivale had seen and was 
coming to meet him, and somehow George felt a 
sudden relief in seeing that her dress was black. 
It showed that in spite of the gay scene Petronel 
was not entirely forgotten. 

“ Oh, Mr. Lumsden,” she cried, with out- 
stretched hands, “ I knew at once it was you ! How 
sweet of you to come and look us up again after 
all these ages ! You are such a swell now we should 
never have dared to ask you. Petronel will be so 
delighted to see you again ! ” 

“ Petronel ! ” exclaimed George, in amazement. 
“ Yes, you know — my little girl! Surely you 
haven’t forgotten her, and that exquisite picture 
you did for us of her in the wood ? ” 

“ But I have just come through the church- 
yard,” answered George, more mystified than ever. 

“ The churchyard ! ” Lady Merrivale repeated, 
with a puzzled look, and then light suddenly seemed 
to dawn upon her. “ Oh, I know what has hap- 
pened now!” she exclaimed. “ You saw my little 
niece’s grave, and she was a Petronel, too. There 
is always a Petronel in every branch of the Merri- 
vales. She was deformed, poor little thing, so it 
really was a blessing she was taken instead of Celia, 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


49 


who is quite pretty. They both had scarlet fever, 
you know, together. And you thought it was our 
Petronel ! ” continued her ladyship, throwing up 
her hands. “ How awful ! I am so sorry — glad, I 
mean — that it was all a mistake ! ” 

“Then is the real Petronel here? ” asked George, 
his mind in a perfect whirl. 

“ Of course she is ! Petronel,” called her moth- 
er, “ come here and see your old friend, Mr. Lums- 
den ! You remember his painting your picture, 
don’t you ? — the one that hangs in the dining-room 
in Park Lane. You were such a tiny thing then, 
but you haven’t forgotten him, I expect.” 

“ Rather not,” replied the girl with the cigarette, 
who had come at Lady Merrivale’s call ; “ he is 
more likely to have forgotten me.” 

“ I should not have known you,” said George 
slowly, “ you are altered so much.” 

“Not gone off?” cried Lady Merrivale anx- 
iously. “ You don’t really think that, I do hope. 
Of course she is at such a dreadfully difficult age 
just now — sixteen is always hopeless — and she is 
so tiresome about neglecting her complexion ; but 
next year I shall bring her out. She will be a 
beauty then, don’t you think ? ” and she awaited his 
reply anxiously. 

George looked the girl over from head to foot. 
She was awkward and angular, and moved in a 
slanging kind of way, and her clothes were sport- 
ing, and her shirt-collar and tie very mannish ; but 
he saw again the beautiful outline of face and fea- 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


SO 

tures, and the same wonderful eyes which she had 
as a child. The whole expression of the face, how- 
ever, was changed. A hard look had written itself 
round the once sweet mouth, and a scornful glance 
shot from those heaven-coloured eyes. All the 
delicate, dainty little demure ways that had made 
the child Petronel so dear were lost, and this girl 
was rough, and rather loud in her manners. George 
Lumsden wished he had gone straight home from 
the churchyard, even with the sad memory of his 
little friend fallen asleep under the grass and flowers. 

“ Of course you will stay to dinner ? ” sounded 
her ladyship’s voice. “ What ! got no dress clothes ? 
You will have to borrow some, then, for we can’t 
possibly let you go. I should think Bob’s might 
fit you, only they will be a little short in the arms 
and legs. What fun ! ” And her laugh rang out 
merrily, if somewhat noisily, too. 

“ They won’t let me dine downstairs yet,” 
chimed in Petronel ; “ but I will pay them out for 
it. You’ll see.” 

“ Where is Robin ? ” asked Lady Merrivale of 
her daughter, as George shook hands with Sir Rob- 
ert, and was introduced to sundry other guests. 

“ Gone sailing,” said Petronel shortly, “ with Dr. 
Cary. He promised he would take him after tea, 
so Robin had tea about three o’clock, and tore off 
directly after.” 

“ I hope to goodness he won’t get drowned,” 
replied Lady Merrivale. “We have no spare boy 
in this family, you see, Mr. Lumsden.” 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


51 


“ Robin is a fool,” observed his sister crossly. 
“ We wanted him to make up the numbers for the 
croquet tournament, and he said he would rather 
go with the doctor — silly ass. And now Jack 
Wyndham can't play, because he's the odd one.” 

“ It don’t matter,” observed a young man pleas- 
antly ; “ I should never have h^id a chance of win- 
ning.” 

“ What rot ! ” replied Petronel. “ Of course 
you would. You would have licked me into fits! ” 

“ Now you are fishing for compliments,” con- 
tinued Captain Wyndham. “ You know you are 
a dead shot.” 

“ She has a wonderful eye,” her father boasted 
proudly to George. 

“ She used to have wonderful eyes,” observed 
the artist. 

“ Ha ! ha ! very good,” laughed Sir Robert, 
thinking it was a joke. 

“ It is billiards that has done it, Daddy,” chimed 
in Petronel, “ and you taught me to play.” 

“ I will teach you a good deal more yet,” said 
her father, clapping her on the back. 

George thought he had already done enough in 
that direction. 

“ Come, Petronel,” called somebody, “ you are 
in for the next game.” 

“ They are playing a croquet tournament for a 
sweepstakes,” Sir Robert explained. 

“ What will you bet on me, Mr. Lumsden ? ” 
asked the girl, sitting on the head of her mallet; 


52 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ of course we bet on everybody as well. It is no 
fun without/' 

“ Petronel," cried Lady Merrivale, “ you must 
play up. I have a pair of gloves on you." 

“ And ‘ with all my worldly goods ’ 1 thee back," 
chimed in Jack Wyndham. 

“ And you, Mr. Lumsden ? " she persisted. 

“ I won’t bet on you at all," he answered quick- 
ly. Imagine betting on what had once been Pet- 
ronel ! 

The girl was excited. Her first break was a 
brilliant one, and then she missed an easy hoop. 

“ Oh, dash it ! " she exclaimed petulantly. 

George Lumsden turned to Lady Merrivale. 

“ I think I will walk down into the village be- 
fore dinner," he said, “ and look up my friend Cary. 
I suppose he is an old married man by this time ? " 

Her ladyship laughed. 

“ He has never married yet, and goodness knows 
if he ever will now. So there is still hope for Jim." 

“ But why not? He was engaged to Miss Gar- 
land when I was here nine years ago." 

“ And he is engaged to her still. She would 
not marry and leave her mother, or some rubbish of 
that kind, and of course the old lady instantly took 
out a fresh lease of life, and is as hale and hearty 
and hateful as ever. Lavinia seems to follow the 
example of a maid of mine who never left to be 
married, and when I asked the reason she said, 
‘ No, thank you, my lady ; a single life and a sweet- 
heart is the life for me.’ " 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


53 


George smiled. 

“ Then Barnscombe is just the same down in 
the village as it used to be ? ” 

“ Much .of a muchness/’ sighed Lady Merri- 
vale. “ Oh, Petronel ! ” as the girl stood near them 
waiting for her turn, “ what do you think ? Mr. 
Lumsden imagined that Lavinia Garland had be- 
come Mrs. Cary.” 

The girl laughed noisily. 

“ Why, the farthest back thing I can remember 
is wanting to be Lavinia’s bridesmaid when I was 
a kid. I shall be ready for her to be mine first if 
she doesn’t look out.” 

“ What nonsense, child,” said her mother re- 
provingly ; “ as if a little old maid like Lavinia 
wouldn’t spoil the look of any wedding.” 

“ She won’t spoil mine,” added the girl sharply, 
“ and for a very good reason.” 

“ We dine at eight, which means half-past,” 
screamed her ladyship, as George jumped the sunk 
fence and started across the fields. 

How still the country lay, steeped in the warm 
sunshine which brings summer to the happy west 
country when other people have only just begun 
spring. The village seemed to be having its after- 
noon nap, and the May-day children, tired of their 
t^amp, had all gone home to tea. The scene was 
very soothing, and George shrank from calling any- 
where just then, lest more change should mar the 
sense of its unbroken beauty. The Court was 
spoiled, but let him still keep the dear old mem- 


54 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


ory of Barnscombe. He therefore stayed in the 
fields and decided to make for the sand-hills and the 
shore. He could look up Jim Cary on his way 
back again. The only human being he saw was a 
small boy swinging violently on a gate, and as he 
drew near, he guessed it was no less a person than 
the only son of Sir Robert Merrivale. A nice, 
curly-headed little fellow, but with none of his sis- 
ter's beauty. 

“ Look out ! hold hard ! ” called George, for he 
wanted to go through the gate. 

The boy started so suddenly that he fell off, and 
George rushed to the rescue with much contri- 
tion. 

“ You are not hurt, I hope?” he asked anx- 
iously. 

“ Rather not, thanks ! ” answered Robin cheer- 
fully ; “ but I say, you did make a fellow jump.” 

“ I am very sorry. I thought you had seen me 
coming.” 

“ I'm waiting here for Dr. Cary,” the boy ex- 
plained ; “ we are going out sailing, only some- 
body's bad at the farm up there, and he had to go. 
Rather a sell for us, wasn't it? I'm afraid it will 
be too late now. I say,” he added, with interest, 
“ where are you staying ? ” 

“ At the Court,” replied George. 

Robin laughed. 

“ You don't pull my leg like that,” he exclaimed 
shrewdly. “ It's my home.” 

“ I thought it was,” continued George, smiling, 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


55 

“ but I am staying there all the same. I arrived 
unexpectedly this afternoon.” 

“ Oh, I say. I beg your pardon,” broke in 
Robin ; “ only it did sound rather like a whale, you 
see. Do you know Dr. Cary ? ” 

“ I knew him a long time ago.” 

“ He's a splendid sort of chap, isn't he ? ” said 
the boy enthusiastically. “ I'd like to grow up just 
his sort.” 

“ Perhaps you will,” George suggested, leaning 
against the gate, on the top of which Robin again 
sat astride. 

“ Rather not ! ” said the boy, shaking his head. 
“ I’m not half clever enough, nor good enough at 
things. But I shall jolly well like to grow a bit like 
him. I've been awful friends with him all my life,” 
he added, in a middle-aged kind of way. 

“ That was lucky for you,” interpolated the 
artist. 

“ I should just think it was.” Then confiden- 
tially : “ There's only one thing about the doctor 
that I can't make out.” 

“ What is that?” 

“ Why, he's such a big, strong, manly sort of 
fellow, you know; splendid at everything he does, 
and the sort even all the big chaps at school like 
to talk to, and ” — here Robin's voice was lowered 
with sad wonder — “ he is actually engaged to be 
married to a woman ! ” 

“ But lots of men get married, you know.” 

“ Married, yes!” exclaimed the boy. “ Our 


56 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


headmaster is. I suppose they can't help it. But 
to be engaged is an awfully stupid, rotten thing. 
I would like to ask him why ever he is, only some- 
how I daren't. He gave me a hot old jaw once 
for something cheeky I said." 

“ Then he is strict ? " queried George. 

“ Sometimes. But only for low, caddish things. 
He isn't a bit about fighting or just larks. He gave 
me half-a-crown when I licked Billy Benbow," and 
Robin's face lit up with sweet memories. 

“ What had Billy Benbow done ? " 

“ Why, hit old Mrs. Moore with a great snow- 
ball. She nearly fell down and cried. I told him 
it was a shame, and he said he'd fight, so we 
fought." 

“ And you licked him ? " 

“ I did, and he's ever so much bigger than me. 
But Dr. Cary had taught me how to box, so I got 
him nicely. He knew no better than just to lam 
out. # Sis said I was a pig when I got home 'cause 
my nose bled." 

“ I painted that picture of Petronel," George 
told him. 

“ What a jolly clever chap you must be," the 
boy exclaimed. “ Only it isn't much like her, 
is it?" 

“ It was when she was seven years old," said 
George half-sadly. 

“ Mother thinks she is awfully pretty, but I 
don't. I like much redder cheeks and jolly fat faces, 
like Jennie Moore's." 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


57 


“ Hadn’t you a little cousin called Petronel, 
too ? ” asked George. He liked the boy’s simple 
confidences, and his merry fearless ways.. He de- 
cided Robin was the best of the Merrivales — now. 

“ Yes,” and the boyish face suddenly sobered, 
“ she died. She was just as old as me, only she 
couldn’t walk ; but I liked her awfully. I cried 
when they told me she was dead, but Dr. Cary said 
he and I must be much gladder than sorrier, ’cause 
she was quite well and happy now, and having all 
the nice times she’d missed through being lame ; 
and so people who were as fond of her as him and 
me are must be pleased, and not think about our- 
selves. I shouldn’t have minded if Celia had died a 
bit — she is so much littler and stupider than Petro- 
nel was, and cries if you give her even the gentlest 
knock.” 

“ Where do they live ? ” George wanted to 
know. 

“ At the Rectory. Uncle Wilfred is the clergy- 
man. He preaches horrid sermons. I never know 
what they are all about. I say,” with a sudden 
change of subject, “ can you sail?” 

“ I am not sea-sick, if that is what you mean,” 
answered George, lighting his pipe. 

Robin shook the gate with laughter. 

“ Can you manage a sailing boat, I mean, stu- 
pid ? ” he exclaimed, with much merriment. 

“ Oh, no ! ” George had to confess. “ Can 
you ? ” 

“ Well, not exactly yet,” said Robin proudly, 
5 


58 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ but I’m learning. Dr. Cary’s teaching me. I 
am going to be a sailor of course, you know.” 

“You are at school now, I suppose?” 

“ Rather. I went to Roundells last term. I 
wasn’t going till I was ten, and I had a tutor, only 
he was such a muff Daddy sent him away. He 
kissed Petronel — wasn’t he an ass? And then it 
was hardly worth while getting another, so the Head 
said he’d have me at Roundells under age ’cause I 
was a Merrivale.” 

“ And a Merrivale worth having, too,” thought 
the artist. “ I am glad he is not staying to be 
spoiled at home.” 

“ I shall go on to the Britannia when I am thir- 
teen,” continued the boy, “ if I pass. Dr. Cary 
says of course I shall pass,” rather doubtfully. “ I 
am in the Head’s house. He’s awful ! ” 

“ What kind of awfulness ? ” asked George lazily. 

“ Oh, you know ! — the kind that makes your 
heart beat when he looks at you. I have been sent 
up to him once,” he added, in a solemn voice ; “ it 
was for saying ‘ damn.’ He told me to remember 
he was not going to punish me for being wicked, 
but for being ungentlemanly and vulgar. I used to 
think before that gentlemen often said it. But, I 
say,” he continued, cheering up at the recollection, 
“what do you think the Head has got himself?” 

George could not imagine. 

“ Why, a baby ! Doesn’t it seem a queer, funny 
little thing for a headmaster to have? I expect 
he’s jolly riled.” 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


59 


“ Perhaps he is fond of it ? ” George suggested, 
with a smile. 

“ Fond of it ! ” exclaimed Robin scornfully. 
“ That’s all you know about him ! Why, he is an 
awful swell, and thinks even some of the Sixth are 
stupid ! ” 

The artist threw back his head and laughed. 

“We all laughed pretty well, too, I can tell you,” 
said Robin, with a chuckle. “ The choir roared 
after the christening, ’cause, you know, they saw 
him have to hold it, and it screamed itself into a 
fit, Smith Minor said, and wriggled like mad.” 

“ Is it a boy or a girl ? ” 

“ Boy. Rather rough on it having the Head 
for a father, don’t you think ? ” And then with- 
out waiting for an answer he burst out, “We had 
the most tremendous fun at the old bays’ match. 
Dr. Cary came — he was there once at school him- 
self, only he is too old even to be an old boy now 
— and he was my friend and had tea with me, and 
heaps of the fellows wanted to be invited, even some 
of the biggish ones. And we ate hundreds of sau- 
sages, and he tipped us all silver for dessert, only 
me gold, because it was my party.” 

“ And I suppose your mother and Petronel come 
to see you sometimes? ” George asked, just by way 
of keeping up the conversation. 

Robin’s face fell. 

“ They did once,” he said gloomily, “ but some 
of the other fellows didn’t much like Mother. They 
said she squinted ; but that’s a lie, isn’t it ? ” 


6o 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Of course it is.” 

“ And Petronel would walk round the play- 
ground with me. It makes a chap look rather a fool 
having a sister, don’t you think ? ” 

The artist had never considered the relationship 
in that light, but then he had never had a sister 
himself. 

“ The second eleven were having a match that 
day,” continued Robin, “ and Sis called them ‘ little 
boys,’ and I believe Turner overheard ” — his little 
round face becoming quite careworn at the remem- 
brance. “ Oh, I say ! ” he suddenly shouted, “ there 
is Dr. Cary. Hurrah ! ” 

And George saw his friend coming down the 
hillside with the same springing step and graceful 
bearing he remembered so well. He noted that 
the years had written no change in the doctor’s ap- 
pearance. He looked, as George always thought 
of him as looking, a strong, well-trained man in 
the prime of life, with just that indescribable dash 
of style which he had inherited from a race of dis- 
tinguished ancestors. His face lit up with a smile 
of welcome as he recognised George. 

“ Why, Lumsden,” he cried, in his cheery voice, 
“ this is a surprise ! When did you come ? ” 

“ Only to-day,” answered George, shaking his 
friend’s hand. “ I came to see my old friend Pet- 
ronel.” 

“ Ah,” said the doctor slowly, “ she has — grown 
a good deal.” And he laid his hand caressingly on 
Robin’s curly head. 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


6l 


George took out his watch. 

“ I wanted to see you,” he said, “ and this young 
man said you would eventually appear.” 

“ I say,” broke in Robin, rather anxiously, 
“ couldn’t you come for a sail with us ? ” 

Jim Cary laughed. 

“ I promised this youngster,” he explained. 
“ Can’t you join us ? ” 

George readily agreed, and they immediately 
started seawards. Robin was slightly bored by the 
introduction of a third person and the talk of old 
times between George Lumsden and Jim, but he 
had his catapult with him, and that has a greater 
charm for the boy-mind than even the most brilliant 
conversation. And when they reached the sea, the 
boat and its sails were all-engrossing. 

George made no allusion to his friend’s delayed 
marriage. There was something about Jim Cary, 
although his manner was so genial, that effectually 
prevented even the familiarity of common comrade- 
ship. George looked at him, and wondered what 
that something was, for he was telling so many of 
his own personal concerns, and Jim was listening 
with so much interest and sympathy — but he said 
little about himself in return. 

George was late for dinner, but then so was 
every one else. The croquet tournament had taken 
so long, and Jack Wyndham would make a speech 
on presenting the prize to Petronel, and there was 
much paying up and settling of the different bet- 
ting. Lady Merrivale won her gloves, and be- 


62 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


stowed a motherly kiss on her daughter in conse- 
quence. It had been very gay and entertaining, 
and there had been many jokes and much laugh- 
ter, all of which George was abundantly thankful 
to have missed. 

“ We won’t have any precedence to-night,” de- 
clared her ladyship, as dinner was announced, “ for 
it is much too late, and I am much too hungry to 
remember who everybody is. Besides, a scramble 
will be much more fun. And the ladies shall choose. 
Here goes — I’m off with Mr. Lumsden. Now, 
girls, catch who catch can, and follow me,” and she 
skipped off with George to the dining-room. 

There was a good deal of screaming before the 
couples were finally arranged and the soup handed 
round. 

“ It is a shame that Miss Petronel should not be 
down to dinner,” said Captain Wyndham, “ in hon- 
our of her victory, if for nothing else.” 

“ That is the one thing I will not allow,” ex- 
claimed Lady Merrivale, “ and just this last year, 
too. Don’t you remember that daughter of the 
Majendies whom every one was sick of by the time 
she came out, because she was always at everything 
before? Petronel is going to be a great surprise 
as well as a great treat next season.” 

“ Poor little Petronel ! ” interpolated her father. 

“ Poor little Petronel ! ” echoed George Lums- 
den. 

“ Besides,” continued Lady Merrivale, “ I must 
have my last fling. Think of, and pity me, for next 


AFTER LONG YEARS 


63 


year I shall be a middle-aged mother, with a grown- 
up daughter ! How awful ! Spectacles will be the 
next step, and I suppose a bath chair the next.” 

“ How ridiculous you are, Lady Merrivale ! ” 
chimed in a colonel of Crimean reputation. “ You 
and your daughter will be taken for sisters.” 

“ It is nice and sweet of you to talk like that,” 
replied her ladyship graciously. “ I don’t wonder 
that you have had so many medals bestowed upon 
you ; you deserve them all.” 

“ They were principally for services rendered in 
the Crimea,” suggested Colonel Hope. 

“ Then you ought to have just double the num- 
ber for services rendered in society.” 

“Were you really in the Crimea?” asked one 
of the girls who was staying in the house. 

The colonel assented. 

“And were you at Waterloo, too?” she con- 
tinued admiringly. 

“ Hardly, my dear young lady,” observed the 
colonel stiffly ; and then Captain Wyndham changed 
the subject. 

“ I say, Sir Robert, I believe that promising son 
of yours is under this table. I have felt several 
suspicious attacks that are not at all canine.” 

“ No, he isn’t,” exclaimed Lady Merrivale. “ I 
have seen him come across the lawn since we sat 
down to dinner. Naughty boy, to stay out so late 
on that silly sea. But it is Dr. Cary’s fault.” 

“ I went out with them first,” George explained, 
“ but they put me back to be in time, and then 


6 4 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


went off themselves for another expedition. I 
like Robin, Lady Merrivale. He is a jolly little 
chap/' 

“ He is rather nice,” assented his mother, 
“ though frightfully naughty. Nobody can man- 
age him at home except the doctor. I can only 
keep him good by giving him a shilling an hour to 
be so. It is not a bad plan.” 

“ Expensive, I should imagine,” said George 
dryly. 

“ Well, somebody must be under the table,” 
cried Jack Wyndham suddenly ; “ if you will ex- 
cuse me, Lady Merrivale, I will investigate.” 

And then there came a shriek and a squeal, and 
Jack dragged out Petronel. 

“ You naughty child ! ” exclaimed her mother 
merrily, and Sir Robert shouted with laughter. 

“ You said I should not come down to dinner,” 
explained the girl triumphantly, “ but I meant to 
all the same.” 

“ I kept thinking it was a cat,” chimed in the 
colonel. “ What a clever young lady you are ! ” 

“ You must have some dinner now,” suggested 
Captain Wyndham. “ Come and sit by me. I am 
feeling so low because I was the last man chosen to 
go in with.” 

“ I like to begin dinner with the entrees,” ob- 
served Petronel. “ Soup is so dull, and soles taste 
of being seedy.” 

“ You only deserve bread and water,” said Lady 
Merrivale reprovingly; and then to the footman, 


AFTER LONG YEARS 65 

“ Hand Miss Petronel the quails and give her a 
.champagne glass.” 

So Petronel took her place, and the whole party 
waxed merrier and noisier for her presence. 

“ All the ladies had got their shoes off, and most 
of the men,” the girl remarked demurely. 

George looked at her with a sudden interest. 
The white muslin frock, which looked so cheap 
and simple to his masculine eyes because it was 
really so expensive and perfect, the blue sash and 
string of pearls round her neck, all made her seem 
so much sweeter, and more like what Petronel ought 
to have been, that he hardly believed she could really 
be so different. 

“ Doesn’t she look pretty to-night ? ” Lady Mer- 
rivale asked him, with pride. 

And George was able truthfully to say that 
she did. 

When at last the ladies rose to go, there was 
great consternation, for, when under the table, Pet- 
ronel had quietly changed all the shoes, and no- 
body could find their own again. This joke met 
with great approbation. 

“ She is a sharper ! ” exclaimed her father 
proudly. 

“ How dare you tamper with your mother’s . 
shoes?” cried her ladyship. “ Nobody ever did 
have such naughty children as I ! ” 

“ Why don’t you pay her a shilling an hour to 
be good, too ? ” suggested George, who was quite 
hot from his share in “ hunt the slipper.” 


66 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Most of the men were on their hands and knees 
under the table. 

“ My price is higher than Robin’s,” chimed in 
Petronel, with a laugh. “ It would be at least a 
quid an hour for me.” 


CHAPTER IV 


ALISON 

Two more years glided uneventfully by, and 
then there came a new experience in the lives of 
both the Garlands and Jim Cary. It was the com- 
ing of Alison. 

Mrs. Garland looked up from a letter she was 
reading one morning and solemnly remarked: 

“ Major Royse is dead.” 

“ Oh, Mother ! How sad ! ” exclaimed Lavinia. 

“ As I never saw the man in my life I am not 
overpowered with grief,” continued the old lady; 
“ but the fact is, it affects Alison. I suppose I shall 
have to take her.” 

Lavinia’s pale face flushed with sudden excite- 
ment. 

“ Do you mean we shall have her to live here, 
Mother ? Oh, that would be delightful ! ” 

“ Wait till you know the girl before you make 
sure of that, my dear.” 

“ But she is Margaret’s daughter, you see.” 

“ And Margaret had her faults. A more self- 
willed girl it would be difficult to imagine. I have 
no patience with people who make saints of every- 

67 


68 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


body who has died — such rubbish! But all the 
same this major is the last of Alison’s father’s peo- 
ple, and we must look after her now. He has left 
her all his money,” referring again to the letter, 
“ but that is not anything to boast of, for the Royses 
were a romantic, unpractical lot. Still, it makes her 
independent. Anyhow, my grandchild would have 
been welcome here had she been penniless. Poor 
girl ! She has had few advantages — losing her 
mother at fifteen, and being left in the guardian- 
ship of only a man ever since.” 

“ But she has been at school, Mother.” 

And a fine pitch schools have come to nowa- 
days ! Teaching no end of fal-lals such as Latin 
and algebra, and leaving girls ignorant of how to 
mend their stockings or work a sampler. I have 
no patience with such nonsense.” 

“ Major Royse was Charles’s only brother? ” 

“ Yes. And it is a wonder to me that he has 
lived so long — with an inside frizzled up into pow- 
der in that dreadful Indian climate for so many 
years.” 

“ He never married, did he? ” 

“ Not he. And there is the Royse folly coming 
out again. Instead of marrying some comfort- 
able woman, who would have kept his house clean 
and his linen mended, he was for ever hankering 
after a ridiculous slip of a girl who died before 
she knew the difference between butter and drip- 
ping. I remember Margaret’s telling me all 
about it.” 


ALISON 69 

“ Were they ever engaged?” asked Lavinia, 
with interest. 

“ Engaged, yes ! But what does that matter 
when one of them is dead ! I was disgusted with 
this Royse man’s wasting his life in such a manner, 
when the world is full of good women who would 
have been willing to marry and see to him for the 
rest of his days. It is a marvel to me — the unself- 
ishness of women ; so glib to take 4 for better, for 
worse.’ If I had written the service I should have 
left the ‘ better ’ out of it altogether, for with a man 
it generally ends in the ‘ for worse.’ ” 

“ How sad it seems that it should be so ! ” in a 
mournful voice. 

For Lavinia never thought of disbelieving what- 
ever platitudes her mother might lay before her. 

“ I wonder what kind of girl Alison has be- 
come?” mused her grandmother. "The last time 
I saw her she was a wild little creature, with most 
disgracefully rough hair and big brown eyes. But 
that was many years ago.” 

“ She must be between three- and four-and- 
twenty now. It will be very nice for me having 
her as a companion. For you see, Mother, there 
are many things which I am interested in with which 
I do not like to trouble you, and which James really 
cannot understand, such as crochet patterns and 
new wool-work designs, or my preserve making. 
But with my own niece it will be different. Be- 
ing a girl she will share my interests.” 

“ That is as may be, Lavinia. I have no confi- 


70 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


dence in a girl who has had the misfortune to be 
brought up by a man, and especially if she has any- 
thing of her mother's spirit. Margaret was a shock- 
ing needlewoman to the day of her death. And the 
Royses have always been a queer lot.” 

“ It was very sad that the girl Major Rovse was 
engaged to should have died,” said Lavinia, refer- 
ring tp the former theme. 

“ My dear, the ways of Providence are for the 
best,” exclaimed her mother, with that ready resig- 
nation so many of us feel concerning the sorrows 
of other people. “ And it would have been a very 
unsuitable match, I have heard, as she was a great 
deal too young for him, and had no money either. 
So, doubtless things turned out for the best. Only 
it was a pity he could not accept the workings of 
Providence in a proper spirit instead of harping on 
his loss for the rest of his days. I don't call it 
Christian behaviour myself.” 

“ What don't you call Christian behaviour, Mrs. 
Garland ? ” asked a cheery voice at the window, for 
Jim Cary had come up in time to hear the end of 
the sentence. 

“ Oh, James!” cried Lavinia, “ here is such a 
piece of news ! My sister's little girl is coming to 
live with us ! ” 

“ You forget she is grown up by now, my dear,” 
corrected Mrs. Garland. “ But it is true, James. 
My granddaughter's guardian is dead, and so Ali- 
son must make her home with us for the future.” 

“ And where does the unchristian behaviour 


ALISON 


71 

come in ? ” persisted the doctor, who always en- 
joyed hearing Mrs. Garland propound her views. 

“ That is in connection with her late guardian 
and uncle,” the old lady explained. “ He wasted 
his life mourning over the death of a girl he was, 
but never ought to have been, engaged to.” 

“ Do you mean he gave up all his work ? ” asked 
Jim, with a twinkle in his eye. 

“ I should think not ! Why, what are you think- 
ing of, James? The Royses were a romantic, sen- 
timental lot, but they were good soldiers all the 
same, and could stick to their colours.” 

“ Then how did he waste his life ? ” 

“ By hankering after what Providence had de- 
nied him, to be sure. I have no sympathy with 
such folk.” 

“ But I expect he loved her, Mrs. Garland. And 
he thought, perhaps, the life also is not wasted that 
is well lost for love.” 

“ Don’t quote poetry to me, James. I never 
could stand it. Give me something practical, I say. 
Why, when I lost my poor husband I accepted my 
experience as in the ways of Providence, and I have 
been very comfortable in consequence ever since. 
Of course, it is upsetting at first, no one will deny ; 
but it is a mistake, if not a sin, to hanker over- 
much.” 

Jim Cary thought of the deceased doctor, who 
was one of the least important pieces of furniture in 
the Old House, and had hardly left his own study 
empty ; and then he pictured the girl who had gone 


72 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


out of Major Royse’s life, and left the whole world 
empty by her going, and he smiled half-sadly at the 
contrast. 

“ Poor chap,” he said slowly. 

“ Oh, James, he was a major ! ” explained La- 
vinia, with a touch of correction in her voice. 

Jim laughed. Lavinia often wondered why her 
lover laughed so often at the things she said quite 
seriously, but she supposed it was one of the inex- 
plicable ways of men. 

“ It will be nice for you to have a girl compan- 
ion, Lavinia. I am so glad this niece of yours is 
coming.” 

Somehow Jim had never realised the fact that 
Lavinia was so much older than in those first long- 
ago days when they became engaged. She had 
settled down into one of the habits of his life, and 
time seemed to stand still in that far-away Devon- 
shire village. Each day was full of interest to Jim 
— the growing interest of his profession and his un- 
tiring efforts to fight for the lives of his poor pa- 
tients, and to give them his best help. The beauty 
of the country round brought him abundant recrea- 
tion, for Jim had an artist’s love of colour as well as 
a sailor’s love of the sea ; and so the days and weeks 
and seasons crept on unawares, and the doctor never 
noticed the silver streaks that were robbing La- 
vinia’s hair of its golden lustre, and the little lines 
that wrote the story of many winters on her smooth 
face. His own buoyant health and youthful nature 
were untouched by the sum of so many years, and 


ALISON 


73 


he felt a keener delight than ever in the realms of 
literature and art, to which he turned with so much 
zest after a hard day’s work in his profession. But 
with Lavinia life had grown in the other direction 
— narrower instead of wider, smaller instead of 
larger. She had settled down to the happy hum- 
drum of every day, and in that she was perfectly 
content. But time that seems to stand still is yet 
obeying its underlying tendency. As one who sits 
on the deck of some great ship in the midst of a 
smooth, pathless sea is really being taken ever on- 
ward, so on the days which seem to have the same 
horizon line, the same ripples, and which leave no 
track behind, we are still being carried onward, 
whether our faces be turned back toward the home 
of our birth, or forward looking out for fresh lands 
ahead. 

For many days the Old House was in a state 
of confusion preparing for Alison’s coming. The 
spotlessly clean rooms were ruthlessly re-cleaned, 
and Lavinia’s nimble fingers made new muslin cur- 
tains, and more pincushions and mats and draperies 
than her niece could possibly have worn out in a 
lifetime. An extra man was hired to work in the 
garden, so that the grass-borders should all have 
their fringes cut, and every weed be plucked from 
the paths. Then Lavinia began her cake-making 
and baking with that happy interest of preparation 
for a new-comer which makes all such work a pleas- 
urable excitement rather than a drudgery or bore. 

When the great day arrived that was to bring 
6 


74 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Alison to Barnscombe, poor Lavinia had such a bad 
sick headache that she could hardly crawl from her 
room; and as it was against Mrs. Garland’s prin- 
ciples to go out as far as the station after tea, Jim 
Cary was deputed to meet the girl and bring her 
home to the Old House. And Alison, sitting at the 
open window, drinking in the beauty of the west 
country, wondered who the tall, well-dressed, sol- 
dierly man was whom the train overtook as it glided 
into the little wayside station. 

“ There is a squire at Barnscombe, I suppose,” 
she thought as she collected her things ; “ what a 
distinguished-looking man he is ! ” 

And then Jim Cary came up to her and intro- 
duced himself, and Alison decided that her aunt 
Lavinia was a very lucky person indeed. 

“Will you drive down or walk?” he asked. 
“ The luggage will go in a cart.” 

“ Oh, walk, please ! I have been fastened up in 
a train all day long, and I should so love a walk.” 

“ Are you going to like Devonshire, Miss 
Royse ? ” 

“ I am sure that I am. You see my home in 
the north was so bleak and cold, and all the coun- 
try round was slate-coloured. This seems so per- 
fectly lovely, and the air is so fresh and sweet and 
soft.” 

“ Barnscombe is the prettiest place in the whole 
world; but then so are lots of other places that 
people call home.” 

“ I came here once before, when I was quite 


ALISON 


75 


little/’ continued the girl, “ and I can remember 
what a huge garden Grannie had. There was a 
great hill in it somewhere.” 

Jim Cary smiled. 

“ You won’t find that hill quite so big as it used 
to be.” 

“ Has it grown smaller ? ” she wanted to know. 

“No; but you have grown bigger. It comes 
to the same thing.” 

“ Is Grannie strict now? She used to be.” 

“ Yes, rather. But you are not afraid of strict- 
ness? ” 

“ What makes you think so ? ” asked Alison 
eagerly. 

The doctor looked at her keenly. She was a 
tall, well-built girl, with a ridiculously small head, 
and a bright, sweet childish face that was quite out 
of keeping with her five foot eight. But Jim Cary 
liked her looks, and the incongruities of her ap- 
pearance appealed to him. 

“ She is a boy now ; but she will be a woman 
some day,” he thought to himself. Aloud he said, 
“ It would take a good deal of strictness to frighten 
you, I think.” 

“ I have had a good deal the last few years of 
my life,” she answered, and a wistful look flashed 
across her sunny face. “ They were strict at school, 
and my uncle was strict, too, though very kind to 
me in his own way.” 

“ I am sorry you have lost him,” said Jim. 

“ He was a very sad man,” and the girl’s voice 


76 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


softened, “ for he had a great sorrow in his life 
which never healed. I can’t help feeling glad to 
think that it is all right at last with him now.” 

Her companion was silent. He did not know 
how to speak of those things. 

“ I am so looking forward to belonging to my 
mother’s people,” continued Alison. 

“ They are very much looking forward to having 
you. Lavinia is quite ill to-day with over-excite- 
ment, or she would have come with me to meet 
you.” 

Alison looked up quickly at the doctor. She 
was deeply interested in the romantic side of life, 
and she felt that an engaged person was standing 
on holy ground which she herself hardly dared ap- 
proach. 

Jim Cary caught her look and smiled. 

“ Lavinia will be very good to you,” he said; 
“ indeed we all shall.” 

The girl’s big brown eyes filled with tears. 

“ Thank you,” she said softly. “ It is very good 
of you to say that. For you see I have left my 
old home, and I haven’t come to my new one yet, 
and it is a bit lonely by one’s self on the way be- 
tween.” 

“ Poor child ! ” he answered, with a ring of ten- 
derness in his voice. “ But look, we have reached 
home now, and you sha’n’t be lonely any more.” 

And Mrs. Garland came hurrying down the gar- 
den path with outstretched arms, Lavinia following 
at her heels; and between them they kissed and 


ALISON 


77 


cried over each other for a few minutes so heartily 
that Alison felt that her mother’s home was indeed 
hers, and that she never need be homeless any 
more. Then Jim Cary reappeared, having mysteri- 
ously effaced himself during this little scene, and 
they laughed with wet eyes and happy faces, and 
then all went in to supper. 

“ It is simply perfect ! ” exclaimed Alison, as 
they took their seats at the well-spread table ; “ I 
could hardly come down for hanging out of my 
bedroom window to get a glimpse of the sea.” 

“ I am glad you are pleased, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Garland graciously. 

“ It is an extremely pretty neighbourhood,” 
chimed in Lavinia ; “ a tourist told me so last 
week.” 

“We know that without tourists’ opinions,” said 
the doctor. “ I have looked at its beauty for over 
forty years, and have not seen a quarter of it yet.” 

“ And the air smells so sweet,” continued Ali- 
son ; “ I noticed a difference directly I came into 
Devonshire.” 

“ Let me help you to some junket, my dear?” 
said her grandmother; and then, turning to her 
daughter, “ Lavinia, you are eating nothing.” 

“ My headache is so bad, Mother.” 

“ You do look very far from well, Lavinia,” said 
the doctor sympathetically. Indeed, he was quite 
struck by the frailty of Lavinia’s appearance. True, 
she was specially pale, and being wrapped up in 
a white woollen shawl gave her an invalid look ; 


78 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


but it was the fresh young face on the opposite 
side of the table that made Lavinia look so faded 
and worn. Jim Cary had not noticed it until it 
was emphasised by the contrast. 

“ Do let us go out/’ begged Alison, as they 
rose from the table. “ It is still quite light.” 

“ I do not feel equal to doing so,” sighed La- 
vinia. 

“ James will show you round, my dear,” said 
the old lady. “ The fresh air will do you good after 
such a long journey.” 

“ Here it is,” exclaimed the doctor, standing by 
a little mound round an oak tree on the lawn. 

“ Is this really the big hill I remember running 
up and down ? ” asked Alison incredulously. 

“ It is difficult to realise ; but it is. Size is only 
a relative thing, you see, after all.” 

“ I wonder whether Uncle William is looking 
at the mountain of his life's trouble now, and smil- 
ing to see how really small it was,” said the girl 
dreamily; and then, with a sudden change of ex- 
pression, she cried in boyish delight : “ Oh ! There 
is a kingfisher down by the stream ! Do let us 
go and find his nest.” 

“ I shall not let you rob it,” said Jim Cary 
absently. 

He was wondering how many opposite moods 
were hidden in the girl's character. Alison looked 
up with a dash of defiance. 

“ Perhaps you could not prevent me,” she ob- 
served, tossing her head. 


ALISON 79 

“ Perhaps also I could,” replied Jim, with a 
smile. 

“How?” 

“ I am not going to tell you that — now.” 

“ But you think you could ? ” she asked again. 

“ I am sure of it.” 

“ You don’t know how difficult I am to man- 
age,” she replied, with her chin in the air. 

“ Neither do you know how masterful a man I 
can be.” 

“ I think perhaps I might guess,” and Alison 
looked up demurely through her eyelashes ; “ for, 
do you know? you seem to me much stricter than 
Grannie.” 

“ Lavinia would not say so. I am considered 
very indulgent to people.” 

“ Are you going to be very indulgent to me, 
Dr. Cary?” 

“ I don’t think I am,” he answered, half-smiling. 

“ Why not?” 

“ Oh, because you are different, somehow.” 

“ You are awfully different from what I ex- 
pected,” continued the girl, glancing at him criti- 
cally. 

“ What kind of man did you expect ? ” 

“ Tell me if I am what you expected first? ” 

“ Not in the very least. I thought you would 
be more like your aunt. But I never imagined 
any one in the least like you, so no wonder I was 
mistaken.” 

“ You don’t know much about me yet.” 


8o 


A CORNER IN THE WEST 


“ I beg your pardon, Miss Royse, but I think 
I do. I have not been studying people physically 
and mentally for so many years without its sharp- 
ening my vision/’ 

“ What do you know about me?” she asked, 
with interest. 

“ That you are a bundle of incongruities. What 
they all are I have not yet discovered, but a few of 
them I have already found out.” 

“ You are very clever,” said Alison, with a 
laugh. 

They stood together looking over a gate which 
opened into a field flecked with cowslips, and 
shaded by the rich foliage of a dozen stately trees. 

“ What a wealth of colour ! ” the girl exclaimed 
in ecstasy. And he saw her mood was changing 
again under the subtle influence of that patch of 
meadow beauty. 

“ I am glad you have an eye for colour,” ob- 
served Jim reflectively ; “ it means the loss of so 
much to live in Devonshire without it. Or indeed 
anywhere, I suppose, for the matter of that.” 

“ I should like so much to be an artist that I 
know I never can be one,” she continued enigmat- 
ically. 

“ I see what you mean. You realise how great 
a thing it is to even try to interpret Nature — so 
great that nothing less than genius dare attempt 
it. But we can see what we could not possibly 
portray. And it is a good thing, if not a great one, 
to be able to see it.” 


ALISON 


8l 


“ Isn’t it wonderful how independent a thing 
genius is of people ! ” said Alison thoughtfully. “ It 
flashes through them from some divine source, and 
yet leaves them untouched in themselves.” 

“ You mean that genius does not improve a 
person as talent does, though it is so much greater 
a thing ? ” replied the doctor, with ready interest. 

“ Yes. A vulgar man, though he be a genius, 
will still be a vulgar man ; but a man of talent will 
be improved as he improves his talents.” 

“ Talent, I suppose, is more part of a man’s 
self.” 

“ Yes, and therefore infinitely inferior to genius, 
for that is part of God,” answered the girl rever- 
ently. 

Jim Cary looked down with almost wonder at 
her eager, earnest face. 

“ If it be, as you say, a part of God,” he asked 
gently, “ why does it not lift the man far higher 
than any talents possibly could ? ” 

“ I suppose because it is only from the outside,” 
replied Alison, with rather a puzzled look, “ and 
it is the inside things which really influence and 
alter and elevate people, don’t you think ? ” 

“ I never thought about it before, I am afraid,” 
and Jim looked a little grave. 

“ You have had so many other things to think 
of,” said the girl readily. “ So many realities to 
fight against in your profession that you could not 
have had much time for abstract ideas.” 

The doctor’s face brightened. 


82 


A CORNER IN THE WEST 


“ I could have found time if I had wanted to,” 
he replied ; “ but I have always taken certain things 
for granted, and thought more about the doing 
than the being in life.” 

“ I think it is right for men to do so, because 
they chiefly have the doing of the world's work.” 

“ Then you are not one of the modern women 
who think that they ought to do full half, if not 
three-quarters, of the work which old-fashioned 
people believed only men could do.” And the doc- 
tor smiled at the idea of the girl beside him being 
a typical modern woman. 

“ I am one of the old-fashioned people myself,” 
she answered, “ and I still believe that men can do 
things far better than we can, because they are 
stronger and cleverer and bigger, somehow, alto- 
gether. But I also think that perhaps we can he 
things better, and that being womanly and sweet, 
and gentle, and helpful, and sympathetic is more 
our work than doing a heap of business ; though I 
know it is terribly primitive to think so in these 
days.” 

“ Then be terribly primitive,” said Jim quickly. 

“ It won't matter in Devonshire if I am ? ” and 
Alison laughed brightly. 

They had been climbing the hill at the back of 
the garden, and a wonderful panorama of country 
stretched before them, steeped in the mauve light 
of the fading day. The sea lay light and glassy 
against the hazy horizon line, and the thin crescent 
of a new moon was creeping up from behind the 


ALISON 


83 


distant hills. The colours which had looked so 
vivid only a short time before were melting into a 
more sombre hue, and the stillness wrapped all the 
landscape in its hush. 

“ You are tired/' said the doctor, looking at 
Alison's face, suddenly paled in the twilight. “ You 
must go indoors now." 

“ I am a little," she owned ; “ it has been such 
a long day. The days are long, you know, on which 
you pass through a new experience." 

“ Good-night," he said, clasping her hand in his 
strong, warm grasp at the hall-door ; “ I hope you 
will be very happy here." 

“ I am sure I shall," she replied simply, lift- 
ing her starry eyes to his. “ It is all so sweet and 
home-like, and you are all so good to me." 

That night as Jim Cary sat over his pipe he 
thought a great deal of Alison Royse. He had 
enjoyed his talk with her so much, and he felt a 
keen admiration for the girl's looks and ways and 
ever-varying moods. She was so different to all 
the women he had met before, and yet he could 
not classify her as being specially of this or that 
type. 

“ She was so boyish every now and then," he 
thought to himself, as he went over the evening 
they had spent together, “ that I wanted to tease 
and scold her, and then there came a flash of 
womanly depth and tenderness that made me Teel 
as if I ought to stand bare-headed in her presence. 
I was right when I called her a bundle of incon- 


8 4 


A CORNER IN THE WEST 


gruities — but what a charming bundle, all the 
same ! ” 

And some of Alison’s last waking thoughts were 
of the doctor : 

“ I like him awfully — he is so big and strong 
and manly. I wonder whether he could master 
me ? I shall see one of these days, though I expect 
he can if he tries. There are not many things he 
could not do if he tried, I imagine. Of course he 
must be very old to be engaged to Aunt Lavinia — • 
but he doesn’t seem too old to talk to. I shall like to 
have him as an uncle,” and she smiled sleepily. 

“ Oh, Mother ! ” said Lavinia, pausing with her 
candle in Mrs. Garland’s room, “isn’t she sweet? 
And yet so tall and bright-looking. Her eyes are 
perfectly lovely — like a stag’s — and I don’t mind 
her having a turn-up nose, do you ? ” 

“ Not much use our minding what is ready- 
made,” observed the old lady ; “ and though she 
has not your regular features, Lavinia, she will not 
do badly with that mouth and complexion. Her 
mother was the same, with a nose that I was always 
ashamed of, seeing my own is so straight, but with 
the sweetest possible mouth to make up, as it were, 
for what went before. But Alison gets her eyes 
from her father. There were no brown eyes in 
our family — I never liked them,” as if that were 
the sole reason for their non-appearance among the 
Garlands ; “ for they seem to me an inhuman colour 
and one more suited to the animals who have them 
than to reasonable beings such as ourselves.” 


ALISON 


85 


“ Of course I agree with you, Mother, in pre- 
ferring blue or gray ; blue always seems to me the 
most womanly colour — but,” apologetically, “ I 
could not help admiring Alison’s for brown ones. 
They are so much larger and deeper than usual.” 

“ She is a nice-looking girl,” said Mrs. Garland, 
“ and reminded me of her mother several times, 
especially with that toss of the head which always 
means a defiant spirit, as it was in Margaret’s case, 
but which I am not going to stand in her daughter. 
The girl may not have had any training till now, 
but it is not too late. And, if she is too rebellious 
for me, I have James to fall back upon.” 

“ But I did not think she seemed at all inclined 
to be rebellious, Mother.” 

“ Ah, my dear, new brooms sweep clean ! But 
do not think I am not pleased with the girl, La- 
vinia, for indeed I am. Only Margaret’s child and 
my granddaughter is too good an article to be 
spoiled for lack of necessary severity. It quite re- 
news my youth, the thought of bringing up Alison. 
You were finished so long ago, Lavinia.” 

“ Yes, Mother,” very meekly. 

Lavinia did not quite know whether she was 
being blamed or commended for the finished state 
of her upbringing. 

Alison’s coming made a great difference at the 
Old House. Her bright, merry presence filled 
every room, and there was more fun and laughter 
then than during the whole stretch of years since 
her mother was young and at home. She was in- 


86 


A CORNER IN THE WEST 


terested in everything, and eager to learn whatever 
her aunt and grandmother could teach her. Her 
love of the country round Barnscombe delighted all 
the inhabitants thereof ; and she made friends with 
every man, woman, and child in the village. 

“ I be right glad, miss,” said the postman, 
“ when I have a letter for you as well as all t’other 
folks. For to my thinking the day begins well with 
a letter — it gives a relish, like a radish with one’s 
tea.” 

“ But sometimes a letter gives us indigestion, as 
the radish would my grandmother,” replied Alison, 
with a smile. She often met Benjamin Wedge at 
the wicket gate, and took the letters from him there, 
after a little talk. 

“ True, miss. But folks as give up eating this 
and that for fear o’ the indigestion lose a lot of 
pleasure, to my thinking. For fearful folks are not 
the happy ones. When I was a little lad my mother 
used to say, ‘ Say your prayers, Benny, mornin’ and 
night, and between whiles be as good and as happy 
as you can, and fear nothing, for it will be all right.’ 
I often think on it, miss. She was a rare good 
woman, was mother ! ” 

“ Mothers generally are,” said the girl softly, 
and there was a ring of sadness in her voice. 

Jim Cary found that Alison’s coming made a 
great difference also to him. The society of the Old 
House was so much more lively than it used to be, 
and she discussed so many subjects with him which 
Lavinia could only listen to, that his visits there be- 


ALISON 


87 


came of a much more vivid colour in his life. Soon, 
however, there arose a considerable bone of con- 
tention between them, and that was Alison’s per- 
sistent refusal to join in the walks which Lavinia 
and the doctor were accustomed to take on sum- 
mer evenings after tea. Her aunt begged her to 
do so, for Lavinia rather feared the long tete-a-tetes 
with her lover, and found the talks which Alison 
led so much pleasanter to listen to. Jim Cary asked 
her over and over again to come, and showed con- 
siderable annoyance at her ever-ready excuses. He 
had had so many walks with Lavinia, and after he 
had told her of his day’s work there was so little 
left to talk about. But the girl continued firm, and 
would always be off somewhere by herself in spite 
of their united entreaties. 

One lovely July evening, a couple of months 
after Alison’s arrival at Barnscombe, Jim and La- 
vinia started as usual, Alison being nowhere to be 
found. 

“ She did not come in to tea even,” explained 
her aunt. “ I hope nothing has happened to 
her.” 

“ What could happen to her?” replied Jim 
quickly. “ What a ridiculous idea, Lavinia ! 
Hasn’t she stayed out as late as this heaps of times 
before?” 

“ Oh, yes ! Of course, there is no real danger, 
James, but I am so nervous.” 

“ There is always danger when a wilful girl is 
alone by the sea,” he replied, somewhat inconsist- 


88 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


ently. “ I hope to goodness she has not gone out 
in a boat ! ” 

“ She would never dream of doing such a thing ; 
Mother has forbidden it.” 

“ I am not so sure of that. Alison is not made 
of such obedient stuff as you are, Lavinia.” 

“ Let us go down to the shore and look for her,” 
she suggested ; and she could hardly keep up with 
the doctor’s long strides as they turned seawards. 

“Have you had an interesting day, James?” 
she asked, a little breathlessly, as he walked on in 
silence. 

“ No — yes, I mean. Mrs. Benbow is not quite 
so well, but I think — What time did you say 
Alison went out ? ” 

“ It was quite late when she started ; she stayed 
to wind Mother’s wool. And now I remember, 
James, she took some cut-rounds with her, so she 
would be sure not to come back to tea.” 

“ Then why didn’t you tell me so before ? ” im- 
patiently. “ I was afraid she had got into some 
mischief.” 

“ Oh, James, I am so sorry ! Please do not be 
vexed with me ! ” 

“ I am not vexed, Lavinia. Why ever should 
I be?” 

“ You spoke a little sternly,” she added timidly ; 
“ but I did not mean to worry you.” 

“ It is all right, my dear ; but you know your 
responsibilities are mine also — and Alison is a great 
responsibility.” 


ALISON 89 

“ Yet she is very sweet, James, don’t you 
think?” 

“ She is a difficult girl to manage,” he continued, 
ignoring her question. “Your mother was talking 
to me about her the other day.” 

“ She is a little wilful at times,” said Lavinia, 
with a sigh. “ But, James, I wanted to consult you. 
Can you tell me how much more red-currant jelly 
you think I ought to preserve than in other years 
when we were only two in family ? ” 

“ I don’t know. What does she do that is wilful, 
Lavinia ? ” 

“ I cannot recall any exact instance, but she 
seems to have her own way a good deal more than 
Mother thinks a young girl should. Mrs. Fane 
considers an extra dozen would be enough, because, 
you see, James, when the mould is once turned out 
two people would practically eat as much as three. 
I mean, the jelly cannot be put back or saved till 
another time. That is the worst of preserves in 
moulds. It runs to a little extravagance.” 

“ Isn’t that a straw hat? ” exclaimed Jim, catch- 
ing sight of something white among the sand- 
hills. 

“ It is Alison’s white sailor hat, I feel sure. 
Can you see whether it has a black ribbon round it 
from here? Kathleen Fane always wears a sailor 
hat, but she has a striped band round hers.” 

Now when we have been frightened about a per- 
son we are apt to feel excessively angry instead of 
thankful when we greet them safe and sound. So 
7 


9 o 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


the doctor’s voice was very stern as, coming up to 
Alison, he said : 

“ Wherever have you been ? Your aunt has had 
quite a fright about you.” 

“ About me ! ” exclaimed the girl, amazed. 
“ Why, I told Grannie I should be out to tea ! ” 

“ Mother did not mention it to me,” said La- 
vinia. “ Or stop, I believe she did say something 
of the kind, but I did not take it in at the time.” 

“ I am so sorry, dear,” and the girl took her 
aunt’s arm ; “ but I wanted to have a bathe, you 
know.” 

“ Didn’t you bathe this morning? ” asked Jim. 

“ Yes: before breakfast.” 

“ Then you had no business to bathe again.” 

“ Why not, I should like to know ? ” 

“ Because it will make you ill. And if it does, I 
will send you to bed for a week, and you won’t like 
that.” 

Alison laid her hand on his arm. 

“ Please don’t be so angry with me ! I did not 
mean to vex anybody. It seems unexpectedly to 
have turned out naughty, as some of the things 
used to do when I was a child. Why, Aunt Vinnie, 
what is the matter ? ” as she saw Lavinia wipe away 
a tear. 

“ I cannot bear to hear James address you so 
severely,” explained her aunt ; “ it quite upsets 

yy 

me. 

“ Oh, it is all right, dear ! ” said her niece. “ He 
isn’t going to be angry with me any more — are 


ALISON 


91 

you ? ” looking up at him with a pleading face, but 
twinkling eyes. 

“ Well, not this time,” he promised; “ but don’t 
go frightening us any more. And you must 
walk home with us now, whether you like it or 
not.” 

“ Very well,” said the girl submissively, and 
they all three turned back towards the village. 

“ I have been wondering, Alison,” began La- 
vinia, “ how much extra currant jelly your being at 
the Old House this year will involve. James can 
give me no idea.” 

“ I should think not ! Neither can I.” 

“ The currants are ready for picking now,” 
mused her aunt, and then a silence fell upon the 
trio as they skirted the sand-hills and. climbed the 
crumbling cliff. 

“ Tell me what it is,” exclaimed Alison, after 
they had stood for a few minutes at the top looking 
seawards, “ that makes one so sad in the presence 
of such great beauty as this ? ” 

“ Do you feel sad ? ” And Lavinia’s voice was 
full of sympathy. “ Well, you have had your 
troubles, and your recent bereavement would quite 
account for it, my dear.” 

“ Oh, no ! not that sadness. But the kind that 
comes as if we saw in this beauty of Nature some 
glimpse of a happiness we are hungry for, but can- 
not yet reach. Don’t you know what I mean ? ” 
appealing to the doctor. 

“ Yes. I think I do. But i-t should bring glad- 


9 2 


A CORNER IN THE WEST 


ness, too; for is it not a promise as well as only a 
passing vision ? ” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Alison. “ It is 
a beautiful idea. And the sadness is of so sweet a 
kind that it is perhaps just at the turn of the true 
happiness.” 

“ But, Alison,” interposed Lavinia, “ happiness 
and sadness are just the opposite of each other, and 
the same circumstances could not create both.” 

“ Oh, but they could, Aunt Vinnie, and gener- 
ally do. Happiness and sadness are as near akin as 
humour and pathos, and continually touch.” 

“ I do not understand you, my dear,” and her 
aunt looked puzzled. 

“ Well, don’t you know how when one is most 
happy — in the best and deep sense of course I mean 
— there always comes a wave of sadness, too? It 
is like the shadow of earth on happiness which is 
really of Heaven.” 

“ But I was not thinking of religious matters,” 
Lavinia explained, “ but just of earthly happiness.” 

“ I don’t believe that true happiness is ever 
earthly,” said Alison simply. 

“ Oh, my dear ! What an extraordinary thing 
to say, and so unnatural in a girl of your age! 
There is indeed much happiness in many things that 
are not distinctly religious.” 

“ But I did not say religious in your sense of the 
word, Aunt Vinnie. I only meant that all the great 
happiness in life is eternal — and that which 
stretches beyond death catches its passing shadow, 


ALISON 


93 

don't you see ? Pleasure, and purely temporal 
things of course would not.” 

“ But a fine evening is not eternal,” argued La- 
vinia. 

“ Beauty is,” said Alison, with a smile, “ and so 
are love and friendship and goodness and knowl- 
edge, and all the things that make life full and rich 
and glad.” 

“ I cannot grasp new ideas,” and Lavinia gave a 
little sigh ; “ they seem to upset me. I have always 
felt that religion was reading the Bible and saying 
one's prayers and teaching in the Sunday-school 
and going to church, not in the things that you 
speak of, my dear. Do not you agree with me, 
James? ” 

The doctor's face was very grave. 

“ I do, and I do not. You see I was brought up 
as you have been, Lavinia, to believe that religion 
wholly existed in the things you mention — and, if 
that was so, it had not much hold upon my life. 
But what Alison says, though new to me, is the 
religion that most men want.” 

“ Life is made up of six days to the week and 
only one Sunday,” Alison interposed. 

“ I do not quite see what you mean by that ? ” 
asked Lavinia. “ You have such a perplexing way 
of talking at times.” 

Then as they had come to the village, the sub- 
ject dropped and they all went in to supper. 

“ My dear,” said Lavinia timidly, coming into 
her niece's room late that night, “ I am so sorry that 


94 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


James spoke so severely to. you out on the shore. 
It was so unlike him, for I have never heard 
him do so before. I hope you will not let it fret 
you. ,, 

“ Oh, no ! ” answered the girl, smiling. “ I 
don’t mind.” 

“ But my dear, you should mind. I did not 
mean that. Only now it is over do not dwell 
upon it.” 

“ Dr. Cary is rather down on me,” said Alison 
musingly. 

“ I am afraid he is a little. But it is only for 
your good, I am sure. Still, it is very unlike James 
to be so. He has always been so very indulgent 
to me.” 

“ You are so good, you know, dear,” and Alison 
kissed her. “ Nobody could scold you.” 

“ Oh, you are mistaken ! Mother often does. 
And I am far from being good. Still, you see, 
James is engaged to me, and I expect that makes 
the difference. It makes him a kind of uncle 
to you, and so he feels it his duty, no doubt, 
to try to train you, and that renders him a little 
stern.” 

“ I like him all the better for that, Aunt Vin- 
nie, so don’t let it worry you.” 

“ I am not really able to think that you can,” 
exclaimed Lavinia ; “ it would be so terrible to me 
to be spoken so sternly to by James.” 

“ Masterfulness always appeals to me.” 

“ Well, Alison, you are a strange girl. I can- 


ALISON 


95 


not understand you one bit. But it is very nice 
having you here ; it makes the house so bright and 
cheerful.” 

“ Thank you, dear. You are all so good to me,” 
and Alison kissed her aunt a very warm good-night. 


CHAPTER V 


THE PICNIC 

When the summer days were shortening into 
early autumn, and the harvesters were busy in every 
field, Barnscombe Court was suddenly filled to 
overflowing. The family had been in London and 
abroad, ever since Alison came to the Old House, 
and it was with much interest that she looked for- 
ward to meeting the great people of the neighbour- 
hood, about whom she had already heard so much. 

“ Petronel is several years younger than you/' 
Lavinia explained to her niece, “ but she has had 
this season in London since she was presented, so 
I daresay you will find her quite grown-up/’ 

And Alison soon discovered that her aunt spoke 
truly, for Petronel Merrivale was indeed better 
versed in the ways of the world at eighteen than 
Alison would be at twenty-eight. She had been to 
more balls in her first season than many girls attend 
during a lifetime, and there had not been a single 
smart function during the last six months at which 
Lady Merrivale and her beautiful daughter were 
not present. For as regards beauty Petronel had 
more than fulfilled the promise of her youth. 

96 


THE PICNIC 


97 


“ Whatever do you find to do down here ? ” that 
young lady asked Alison on the occasion of their 
first meeting. “ I find it so awfully dull.” 

“ I am never dull if the sea is within reach,” 
replied Alison. “ I bathe and boat and fish, and 
simply love being down on the shore.” 

“ Mummy won't let me go and do any of those 
things because of my complexion,” said Petronel, 
with a sigh. “ Isn't it a bore? At Cowes she made 
me wear a white veil and always have a parasol, 
and even then I got three freckles. She was so 
angry.” 

Alison laughed. 

“ Sea air is very unbecoming, I am afraid.” 

“ But Devonshire air isn't. Mummy says it is 
owing to my having lived in Devonshire when I 
was a kid, and being always out of doors in the 
soft, damp air, that has given me my complexion. 
She says when I am married she shall wash her 
hands of it once and for all, but till then I must 
be careful. That is why she won't let me hunt or 
shoot now as I used to before I came out.” 

“ How funny ! What do you like doing best? ” 

“ Dancing. We are going to Cannes for the 
winter, and to Monte Carlo, too, I hope. I hate 
being here in the country for long.” 

“ You have lots of people staying in the house 
now, haven’t you? There was such a crowd in the 
Court pew on Sunday. I was deeply interested.” 

“ And most of the men stayed at home, so 
there are more still.” 


98 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ It must be very jolly. Like a party at every 
meal. I have never stayed in a big houseful.” 

“ How frightfully funny!” exclaimed Petronel. 
“ There were twenty in the house where we stayed 
for Ascot, and there was an enormous house-party 
for the Dublin Horse Show, and quite a lot for 
Goodwood. I only came out in February, you 
know, so I haven’t had much experience.” 

“ You have had much more than I have, any- 
way,” replied Alison. “ Tell me who were the two 
men who did appear on Sunday ? ” 

“ What were they like ? I forget.” 

“ One was fair and rather effeminate, a shortish 
man with poor shoulders.” 

“ Oh, he is Claud Curtis, an artist. He is going 
to make no end of sketches down here, I believe. 
But I don’t talk much to him. I hate artists.” 

“ Hate artists ! ” exclaimed Alison. “ Whatever 
for?” 

“ They generally wear such odious collars, and 
talk about things that bore me. Besides, I know 
one artist — a really great one, an R.A., and all that, 
you know — who is horrid to me. He painted my 
portrait when I was quite small, but he is not a 
bit nice now. I have met him at several places this 
season.” 

“ The other was a tall, lean, dark man, with very 
capable hands.” 

“ That is Sammy Head.” 

“ Not the cricketer?” 

“ Yes, rather ! Do you know him ? ” 


THE PICNIC 


99 


“ No, only by name. But I am awfully inter- 
ested in cricket. Dr. Cary and I have watched all 
the scores this season. Some of them have been 
splendid. I should like to know him ! ” 

“ Well, you will meet him up here. He is very 
amusing. Robin simply adores him.” 

“ Is Robin your little brother? ” 

“ Yes. He went back to school yesterday. He 
is going on to the Britannia next year.” 

“ I did not know Mr. Head’s name was Sam- 

my. 

“ It isn’t. His name is Stafford Clive Corn- 
wallis, that is why he is called Sammy for short.” 
And Petronel smiled lazily as she leaned back in 
her long basket chair on the lawn. 

Alison was sitting on the grass at her feet, and 
she looked up admiringly at the girl’s beautiful 
face and head, and was not surprised that Lady 
Merrivale was careful of such a flower-like com- 
plexion. 

“ Did you go to the ’Varsity match? ” she asked 
Petronel eagerly. 

“ Yes. I had a new Paris frock for the occasion. 
It was great fun — all except the cricket.” 

“ Except the cricket ! ” exclaimed Alison. 
“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ That is the worst of all cricket matches,” con- 
tinued Petronel ; “ it takes up all the men, and it 
is so stupid just to sit beside one’s mother and look 
on ! Of course there are other men at Lord’s, but 
I wanted to talk to Sammy and several of the men 


IOO 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


who were in the eleven, and it was so tiresome their 
having to play.” 

“ I like to watch the game,” said Alison, “ and I 
get most frightfully excited.” 

“ You are rather a boyish girl,” said Petronel, 
looking at her critically ; “ the men were right.” 

“ What men ? ” said Alison quickly. 

“ Oh, Claud Curtis and Lord Archie and Sam- 
my ; they went for a walk along the cliffs yesterday, 
and they said they had seen a tall girl down on the 
shore throwing stones exactly like a boy. I thought 
it must be you.” 

“ I was making ducks-and-drakes,” Alison ex- 
plained. “ Isn’t it funny how impossible it is to 
stand down by the sea without throwing stones 
into it ? ” 

“ I never do since I grew up. You seem to me 
awfully young.” 

“ I am not then. But I don’t feel a bit older 
than I did when I was twelve, only of course one 
knows more about things.” 

“ Oh, here is Sammy ! ” cried Petronel, with 
sudden animation. “ I have been explaining you 
to Miss Royse, and she adores and understands 
cricket.” 

“ How wonderfully intelligent of her ! ” an- 
swered the young man. He spoke in a well-bred, 
drawling kind of way, which Alison liked to hear. 

“ I have read so much about you,” she said, with 
a smile, “ that it is like meeting a picture out of the 
Illustrated or Sketch to see you in the flesh.” 


THE PICNIC 


IOI 


“ The worst of those portraits is,” he interrupted 
gravely, “ that they are in black and white, and so 
you lose my colouring. Now, colouring has always 
been my strong point. They used to tell me so 
at school, so I know it is true.” 

The girls both laughed as they looked at his 
absolutely pale face and perfectly-matched dark 
hair and eyes. 

“ It seems to me you would simply shine in 
black and white,” said Petronel. 

“ There you do me an injustice, Miss Merri- 
vale. I have a sweet blush at times — but no artist 
can really paint a blush, I have often heard. And 
it has been proved true in my case.” 

“ Have you not had your portrait painted ? ” 
Alison wanted to know. 

“ Well, not exactly. A cove has painted some 
big cricketing picture for the Colonies, I believe, 
and he wrote the other day to ask me to send him 
my colouring.” 

“ What did you say ? ” asked Petronel. 

“ I told him my hair was scarlet and my eyes a 
vivid blue, and that my cheeks were fresh-coloured 
to put it mildly. I am thinking of emigrating,” he 
continued, in his slow way, “ so that I may meet 
that picture some day.” 

“ How foolish you are ! ” said Petronel reprov- 
ingly ; “ it will spoil the whole thing.” 

“ I thought it would be more cheerful for the 
Colonies,” continued Sammy. “ It is a pity to 
depress a country in its youth. And my counte- 


102 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


nance, when unadorned, is not exhilarating, you 
know.” 

44 What a goose you are ! ” and Petronel tapped 
him with her parasol. 

44 1 see you know how to throw stones,” he said, 
turning to Alison. 44 Do you live in a glass house, 
or have you any brothers ? ” 

44 Neither,” she answered, with a laugh. 44 But I 
am very proud that you commend my throwing.” 

44 Can you also catch ? I am going to teach 
Miss Merrivale how to catch a ball when she has 
taught me how to knit a stocking.” 

44 It will be very difficult to teach a man how to 
knit a stocking,” exclaimed Alison. 

44 Neither will it be easy to teach Miss Merrivale 
how to catch a ball — even a soft one. With a hard 
one it would be impossible.” 

44 It hurts so,” Petronel interrupted. 

44 So do most things before we do them well,” 
added Alison. 

44 1 met a very smart old cove down in the vil- 
lage,” began Sammy, after lighting a cigarette; 
44 looked like a soldier, and his tie was immaculate.” 

44 That is Dr. Cary,” said Alison quickly, and 
she felt a sudden wave of dislike for the cricketer that 
he should dare to call Jim Cary 44 an old cove.” 

44 He is coming to our picnic to-morrow, and so 
are you too, I hope. Mummy has written to invite 
you, Miss Royse.” 

44 1 shall be delighted. How kind of Lady Mer- 
rivale ! ” 


THE PICNIC 


103 


“ Dr. Cary is the best shot Father ever has down 
here,” Petronel continued. “ We all like him im- 
mensely. I suppose you see a great deal of him ? ” 
turning to Alison. 

“ Oh, yes ! He is engaged to my aunt, you 
know.” 

“ Lord Archie has just pressed upon me the 
most preposterous invitation a man ever received,” 
said Sammy Head. “ He actually wanted me to go 
and shoot with him for two days at his island, or 
some such place where he has a shoot, about half- 
way between here and the North Pole. It will take 
me about a fortnight to get there and back — and 
for two days only ! ” 

“ How ridiculous ! ” exclaimed Petronel. “ Of 
course you are not going ? ” 

u Yes, I am. It is ridiculous, isn’t it? I have 
been thinking so ever since.” 

“ Then why are you ? ” queried Alison. 

“ Because I shall enjoy it, of course. Could a 
chap have a better reason ? ” 

“Do you remember the first time we met?” 
said Petronel, after a few moments’ pause. “ It was 
at a naughty little secret dance Lady Worfield gave 
in Lent.” 

“ Yes, I know. It was against my principles 
going. I am awfully strict about Lent, Miss Royse. 
I always give up something.” 

“ What did you give up last Lent ? ” asked Ali- 
son smiling. 

“ A little of the water in my whisky. But my 


104 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


brother is stricter still; he gave up going to the 
office. It led to rather an unpleasantness with the 
governor, but a fellow always has to suffer for con- 
science’ sake.” 

The girls laughed. 

“ I must be going now,” said Alison, rising. 

“ We shall meet again to-morrow,” and Pet- 
ronel smiled graciously. “ Remember, we start 
punctually at eleven.” 

Now a picnic is about the longest entertainment 
that the mind of man can devise, and approaches 
more nearly to eternity that any other of the tran- 
sient pleasures that can be enjoyed in the realms of 
time. By one o’clock Alison felt as if she had 
known Claud Curtis, who sat next her on the coach, 
all her life. They had discussed art with a capital 
A, and almost every other subject, before luncheon, 
and there were still four hours before the carriages 
were ordered for the long homeward drive. 

“ What shall we play at? ” asked Sammy Head, 
when all the men, and several of the women, had 
finished their cigarettes. “ My nursemaid used to 
play a delightful game called ‘ I languish.’ I forget 
the rules, but it usually ended in kissing somebody, 
if I remember rightly.” 

“ Now, Sammy, don’t be a naughty boy, and 
contaminate my picnic ! ” cried Lady Merrivale. 

“ I suppose it was of the genus of ‘ Kiss in the 
ring ’ ? ” suggested Claud. 

“ If they begin any rowdy, fast game, don’t you 
join in it,” said Jim Cary in a low voice to Alison. 


THE PICNIC 


105 

“ But all the other girls will,” she argued, 
slightly surprised. 

“ I don’t care about that. You are not ‘ all 
the other girls/ and I won’t have it.” 

Alison looked up at him quickly. There was 
an ominous pucker between his eyebrows and a 
firm set of his lips which she had learned to know 
meant having his own way. 

“ All right,” she replied softly. “ But I can play 
if it is a nice game, can’t I ? ” 

“ What a child you are ! ” and Jim smiled at her 
pleading eyes and coaxing voice. “ Round games 
are stupid things.” 

“ Oh, but they are such fun ! And I have never 
been at a big, smart picnic like this before.” 

Dr. Cary shrugged his shoulders. 

“ You are none the worse for that,” he mur- 
mured. 

“ It is too hot to play games,” Petronel was say- 
ing ; “ let us go into the woods.” 

“ In twos and threes,” added somebody. 

“ Bags one of the twos for me,” said Sammy. 

Then the party broke up and drifted away, and 
Alison found Claud Curtis the other half of her 
two. 

“ I am going to do a sketch,” he said ; “ won’t 
you come and criticise and look on ? ” 

“ I am much too ignorant to criticise ; but I 
should love to see your work,” she answered enthu- 
siastically ; and soon they found what the artist 
called a good study, and Alison sat down on the 
8 


io6 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


trunk of a fallen tree and watched him painting with 
admiring eyes. 

“ How well we understand each other,” began 
Claud, after a long pause. “ There is nothing op- 
pressive in the silence between us, and that shows 
we are kindred souls.” 

“ But I don’t think there is ever anything op- 
pressive in a silence out of doors,” said Alison, 
“ because it is not really a silence. It is just a 
listening to Nature.” 

That idea, however, was not satisfactory to the 
artist. 

“ Oh, no ! ” he argued ; “ it might be oppressive 
if we were not in sympathy with each other. But 
as it is, we are reading the same page together, 
even though we may be reading it to ourselves.” 

Alison did not speak, and Claud continued : 

“ I knew you had an artist’s soul the first mo- 
ment I saw you.” 

Alison remembered how Dr. Cary had said that 
he was glad she had an artist’s eye for colour, and 
how pleased she had been by that simple statement. 
She wondered why this greater praise on similar 
lines made her feel slightly uncomfortable. 

“ You could hardly have known that,” she said, 
with a. toss of her head. 

“ Why not, dear lady? You do me an injustice.” 

“ Because I have not brought my soul with me 
to-day,” she answered mockingly. “ I thought I 
should not want it at a picnic.” 

“ Ah ! now you are making fun,” sighed Claud ; 


THE PICNIC 


107 


“ but I see below the surface. I know that what 
you pretend is shallow is, in reality, deeper than 
you yourself know. How many men have been 
drowned in such deception ! ” 

“ How is your sketch getting on ? ” asked Alison 
irrelevantly. 

“ You must not look till it is finished,” he ex- 
claimed hurriedly. “ It puts me completely off my 
work if any one sees my studies unfinished.” 

“ I like to watch the quick way in which you 
seem to do it,” and the girl's voice was full of 
praise ; “ it must be splendid to be able to draw 
and paint ! ” 

“ It is unsatisfactory work at best,” sighed 
Claud, who was always in ecstasies over his own 
efforts, “ but it is a great help to have some one 
near you who is content just to sit still and under- 
stand.” 

“ That seems by far the easiest part,” inter- 
rupted Alison, with a faint touch of derision in her 
voice. 

“ You think so because you can do it, Miss 
Royse. But it is not really so. We always think 
that what we ourselves can do is easy, but it is a 
grand mistake. No one else at this picnic could 
have given me the help you are giving, almost un- 
consciously.” 

“ I am doing nothing,” said Alison shortly. 

“ So you say. But is it nothing to see in Art 
what you see in her, and to feel that sympathy with 
her disciples which claims their comradeship at the 


io8 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


very least? It is you really who will have painted 
this little study of mine.” 

The girl laughed. 

“ I think you are stating the case a trifle strong- 
ly, Mr. Curtis.” 

The artist shook his head and worked on for 
a time in silence. Then he looked up and said 
sadly : 

“ You must forgive me if I am a little dull to- 
day,” knowing perfectly well that, whatever else he 
might be, he was not that, “ but the truth is — I feel 
drawn to tell you, Miss Royse — I have just had a 
great sorrow.” 

Now this was a very clever new departure on the 
part of Claud. He was quick to see that though 
Alison might laugh at admiration, she was full of 
sympathy for those in trouble. He had noted that 
she was in mourning, and he knew from observa- 
tion, not experience, what a bond a common feeling 
of sadness brings. But all the while he did not him- 
self know that he was playing to the gallery so pat- 
ently. He felt the longing for sympathy and ap- 
preciation, and then he suddenly remembered that 
he was bereaved, and for a short time his loss was 
a real one. Though Claud might deceive other 
people, he deceived himself first, and so his conduct 
was not altogether false. In an instant the cold 
touch of scorn vanished from Alison’s face, and her 
eyes glowed with feeling. 

“ I am so sorry ! ” she said simply. 

“ My dearest friend has died,” he murmured. 


THE PICNIC 


IO9 

“ Would you like to tell me all about it?” she 
asked gently. 

“ He was such a splendid fellow, and life was so 
bright before him,” he continued, now thoroughly 
enjoying himself ; for Claud loved a dramatic situa- 
tion in which he was the centre figure. “ We played 
together in the nursery, and sat at the same desk 
throughout all our school days ; and then, though 
our different callings separated us for a time, our 
friendship, I might almost say our brotherhood, 
was still unbroken.” 

Alison did not speak, but her face was eloquent 
of sympathy. She knew that if sorrow is real there 
is so little to say; but Claud, who did not know 
this, was disappointed. 

“ Though my prospects are so poor,” he con- 
tinued, fully intending to be President of the Royal 
Academy some day, “ his were brilliant. That 
makes his death so doubly sad. He was heir to 
three fortunes, and only one of them had as yet 
come to him.” 

The girl’s face suddenly changed, and Claud 
quickly added : 

“ If one of us had to go, what a pity it seems 
that it was not I, who could have been so easily 
spared.” 

“ Perhaps your creative power would have been 
a greater loss to the world than his spending of the 
remaining two fortunes,” suggested Alison. 

Claud felt the touch of coldness in her tone and 
was genuinely distressed. 


no 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Ah, Miss Royse, I am afraid my words gave 
you a wrong impression? Why I regretted his loss 
of that money was not for his sake, but for human- 
ity’s. How nobly and unselfishly he would have 
given to the needy what will now be hoarded by the 
selfish, if not recklessly thrown away by the ex- 
travagant/' 

This was a slight stretch of imagination on the 
part of Claud, seeing that the first fortune had only 
helped to enrich many wealthy tradesmen and a 
few trainers and bookies ; but he forgot this in the 
picture he was drawing of his lost friend for him 
and Alison to mourn over together. 

“ This is idle and perhaps foolish speculation," 
he continued gravely ; “ the bitter fact remains that 
I have to live on without him. But enough of me 
and my concerns. It is a shame to cloud the sun- 
shine of the day for you, only you will forgive me, I 
know, for trusting you over much." 

“ There is nothing to forgive. And you know I 
sympathise with you." 

Which was exactly what Claud was at that mo- 
ment simply feeding upon. 

"May 1 see your sketch now?" Alison asked, 
after a long silence. 

“ It is not worth showing," said Claud, who 
knew perfectly how extremely clever it was. 
Patches of light falling through the shade of the 
trees overhead, the rusty colour of the fading 
bracken, and a girl's figure seated on a fallen tree 
made up the picture. 


THE PICNIC 


III 


“ You have used my face for the girl’s,” ex- 
claimed Alison. “ I never gave you leave, you 
know.” 

“ But you won’t mind, will you ? — because the 
whole thing is yours. I had to clothe my maid- 
en as a village girl in apron and sunbonnet be- 
cause, much as I admire your coat and skirt and 
sailor hat in reality, they would not have done for 
art.” 

Alison laughed. 

“ It is awfully clever of you to make the girl me, 
nevertheless. I suppose you wanted a copy for the 
face?” 

“ I wanted your face to copy,” he replied, fold- 
ing up his painting materials. 

“ I wish I could sketch like that ! ” and Alison 
looked admiringly at the block in her hand. 

“ Let me teach you. I know I could.” 

The girl shook her head. 

“ I am afraid you could not.” 

“ I will try, and show you that you are wrong. 
I shall be at the Court for another week or so, and 
we will see what we can do. I feel that Art is in 
you from the way you talk.” 

Alison liked the taste of the flattery just as we 
like that of chocolate creams, provided we do not 
get sick of them. 

“ It will be very good of you to help me,” she 
replied gratefully. 

And Claud was satisfied with his afternoon’s 
work. 


1 1 2 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Where have you been all this long time? ” Jim 
Carv asked her, as they met again at tea-time. 

“ In the wood watching Mr. Curtis sketch. He 
put me in.” 

“ Confound his impertinence ! ” exclaimed the 
doctor savagely. 

Alison instantly took up the cudgels on her new 
friend’s behalf. 

“ It was not impertinent. I did not mind.” She 
forgot then that she had not been consulted. “ And 
he gave me the sketch to do what I liked with.” 

“ Let me see it.” 

“ I have not got it yet. He is going to mount 
it for me and bring it to the Old House.” 

“ And what will you do with it then ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! Give it to Grannie per- 
haps.” 

Jim Cary looked pleased, and just then Lady 
Merrivale called him away. 

“ Please, somebody come — you Dr. Cary — and 
help me to carve this dreadful sugar cake. It wants 
a pickaxe to it. Oh, how clever of you ! ” as Jim 
cut a slice ; “ that comes of being a doctor, I sup- 
pose. You know where everybody’s joints are, even 
a plum-cake’s.” 

“ I never can carve a duck,” interpolated Sam- 
my Head, “ because they always have their joints in 
different places. It is infinitely original of them.” 

“ We ought not to eat things with joints,” re- 
plied her ladyship, shaking her head ; “ it makes 
life so much more difficult.” 


THE PICNIC 


1 13 

“ And there t are not many animals without 
them,” suggested Sammy. 

“ Why, beef and mutton haven’t any, stupid,” 
exclaimed Lady Merrivale. “ At least, I mean 
proper mutton — not that nasty choppy sort.” 

“ I think it is more difficult to eat things with- 
out any joints,” he drawled. “ Asparagus, for in- 
stance. I always think eating asparagus is like 
kissing under the mistletoe — it is the underneath- 
ness which only makes the action possible.” 

“ And it is always so hard to get underneath the 
drooping end,” Lady Merrivale agreed. 

“ There are other dangers besides,” Sammy con- 
tinued. “ If ever I have rheumatic fever it will be 
from eating asparagus, because the water out of the 
thick end always runs up my sleeve and then when 
it goes cold it is as bad as sleeping in a damp bed 
for giving one a chill.” 

“ It is so funny that we eat asparagus with our 
fingers and not any other vegetable.” 

“ It would be drier and cleaner and certainly 
easier to pick up a neat little potato or to nibble at 
a carrot. Society wants reforming, Lady Merrivale. 
Shall you and I run a reformation ? ” 

“ Oh, yes! That would be delightful. You are 
such a clever boy, Sammy. Isn’t he? ” appealing to 
Jim Cary. 

“ He is clever enough at wicket-keeping,” said 
the doctor, with a smile, “ as all England knows.” 

“ I don’t care much about cricket,” continued 
Lady Merrivale ; “ it always seems so long to look 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


1 14 

at, and I never know what they are doing ; but I like 
to see the ball hit nice and high.” 

Sammy uttered a shriek of mirth. 

“What are you laughing at? Me, I suppose. 
But anyway, I don’t call it playing at ball unless the 
ball goes high up into the air.” 

“ And somebody catches it, I suppose,” added 
the cricketer. 

“ Exactly. And it seems to me that two are 
enough to play at that game without the other 
twenty.” 

“ After you have reformed society you might 
undertake cricket,” suggested Sammy. 

“ I wish you were my brother,” said Petronel, 
suddenly looking at Sammy’s tie, “ because your 
colours would suit me so well ; and it is so tiresome 
not having any to wear.” 

“ Be a sister to me,” he drawled. “ Lots of 
other girls have said they will be, in answer to — a 
kind inquiry on my part.” 

“ I cannot remember what I had for breakfast 
this morning,” said Lady Merrivale, with a yawn; 
“ it seems so tremendously long ago.” 

“ I had lobster,” observed Sammy. “ I have had 
no difficulty ever since in remembering.” 

“ Nonsense,” laughed the doctor, “ you young 
fellows nowadays are too fond of having indiges- 
tion and all kinds of complaints that belong by right 
to your betters.” 

“ I don’t think a chap like you ought to be a 
doctor,” Sammy retaliated, “ for you look as if you 


THE PICNIC 


1 1 5 

knew nothing about ailments, from experience I 
mean.” 

“ Oh ! but that is no reason,” interrupted Pet- 
ronel, “ for you needn't have had things to know 
about them. Sylvia Desmond knows everything 
about falling in love, but she has never been in 
love herself. She says she is a specialist on the 
subject.” 

Sammy lit a cigarette. “ There is a good deal 
in what you say. A specialist for deafness would 
not necessarily be deaf himself.” 

“ Of course not.” 

“ But does this Miss Desmond really know as 
much as she boasts of ? ” queried the cricketer. 

“ Perhaps she only pretends to know,” sug- 
gested Jim. “ You young ladies are very clever at 
pretending. I have heard you lately,” turning to 
Petronel, “ pretending that you know nothing 
about games, or sport, or lots of the things that 
interested you so enormously a year ago.” 

“ I have come out since then,” Petronel ex- 
plained. “ I don't wear pinafores now. And, be- 
sides, Mummy has taught me lots of new games in 
London that I find much more amusing than 
tramping over heather or tiring myself to death 
with exercise, or playing any of Daddy's games.” 

“ And what are these new ones?” asked Jim, 
looking keenly at the girl's proud young face. 

“ Dancing and gambling, and — oh, you know ! ” 

“ The kind of cricket Lady Merrivale wants to 
teach us,” interpolated Sammy, “ which only two 


u6 a CORNER OF THE WEST 

can play at. Somebody throws a ball, and some- 
body else catches it.” 

“ And what is the ball made of? ” asked Alison 
suddenly. 

“ You must question Miss Merrivale about 
that,” said Sammy, “ it is her game. A cove can’t 
play every game, and cricket happens to be mine.” 

“ The ball is made of the things it happens that 
particular man wants to catch,” explained Lady 
Merrivale ; “ there are many different kinds. Pet- 
ronel is not quite so clever as I used to be in their 
manufacture, but she is young as yet.” 

“ She has learnt a good deal in the time,” said 
Dr. Cary. 

“ A London season is the best finishing school,” 
continued her ladyship. “ Why, I knew absolutely 
nothing before I came out. I could not even spell 
Barnscombe until I married Bobby.” 

“ But I can do that before Lve married any 
one,” persisted Petronel, “ so I am cleverer than 
you are, Mummy, after all.” 

“ You are wrong there, my dear; I married in 
my first season, and that was cleverer still.” 

On the drive home Alison sat between Jim Cary 
and Sammy Head. Claud drove with Lady Merri- 
vale in the phaeton. 

“ Is Miss Royse an orphan ? ” he asked her with 
much interest. 

“ Yes. But don’t you go falling in love with 
her, Claud. It is not good enough.” 

“ I suppose she is not absolutely penniless? ” he 


THE PICNIC 


II 7 

continued tentatively. “ It is so sad for a young 
girl to be thrown on the world’s mercy. She inter- 
ested me deeply, and it would distress me to hear 
that life was hard on her.” 

“ That is rubbish, my dear Claud. I forget how 
much her father or uncle or somebody left her, but 
it was not enough for you, I am sure.” 

“ Was it in the hundreds or the thousands, do 
you think ? ” 

“ I tell you I don’t know. But you can go to 
Somerset House and look up the will for a shilling. 
Only don’t be so silly, Claud, over a pair of brown 
eyes and a pretty mouth.” 

“ She has an awfully sweet voice.” 

“ Voice, forsooth! I am surprised at you — in- 
deed, I am. Talking like that! A sweet voice 
won’t pay your bills.” 

“ I was not thinking of myself, Lady Merrivale,” 
in rather a hurt voice, though he rarely ever thought 
of anything else. “ I was picturing my sweet flow- 
er-maiden — for such she is in looks and ways — 
saved from the din and toil of the world’s work by 
so commonplace a thing as money, and hoping that 
enough of it for this is hers.” 

“ You ought to marry money, you know,” said 
her ladyship severely, “ and a proper amount, 
too.” 

“ I know, I know,” sadly. “ It is a mockery to 
have to think of such a thing in the midst of the 
world’s beauty. But it must be. I could not paint, 
as I feel I have it in me to paint, if I were harassed 


1 1 8 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

by such petty worries as the lack of money involves. 
It is hard that it should be so.” 

“ Marrying an orphan is rather a pull in one 
way,” said Lady Merrivale dryly. “You know the 
worst as regards her fortune, and you would never 
be called upon to entertain your mother-in-law.” 

“ You speak hardly and cynically, dear lady. 
And I see you do not understand me — not as she 
does,” he added plaintively. 

“ A good deal better, if truth must be told,” re- 
plied Lady Merrivale sharply, “ or than you do 
yourself. But never mind, light a cigar, and smooth 
out the wrinkles between your eyebrows, they are 
not becoming.” 

“ I want to ask you,” he began, when the cigar 
was in full swing, “ what right has that old doctor 
to look as if the girl belonged to him ? ” 

“ Only an avuncular one. He is engaged to her 
aunt.” 

“ Oh ! is that all ? ” and Claud’s face brightened. 

“ But I am not sure that he won’t fall in love 
with the niece before he’s done,” continued her 
ladyship thoughtfully. “ He looks at her when he 
is talking to her even now, and that is a bad sign. 
And he looks at her when he is talking to other peo- 
ple, which is worse.” 

“ But he is much too old for her,” crossly. 

“ My dear Claud, Jim Cary is a very attractive 
man even when he does not want to be. There is 
something about the set of his shoulders that is 
dangerous — positively dangerous. I even like to 


THE PICNIC 


II 9 

be ordered about by him myself, and I am an epi- 
cure in such sensations, you know.” 

“ He ought to marry the aunt,” muttered the 
artist. 

“ Moreover, I noticed the first time I met them 
out at dinner — a small affair at the Rectory — Jim 
came into the drawing-room after dinner a full two 
minutes before the other men. And a man nearly 
always does that if he is in love with any one who is 
present.” 

“ Did he go straight and talk to her? ” 

“ Oh, no ! But that is nothing. He looked for 
her, though, the moment he came in.” 

“ Wasn’t the aunt there?” asked Claud impa- 
tiently. 

“ No, she was not. And I never knew Jim 
come in so soon before, though he and Lavinia 
Garland have often dined up at the Court.” 

“ I am going to teach Miss Royse how to 
sketch,” said Claud grimly. 

Then you are a bigger fool than I gave you 
credit for. You will propose to her, that is the next 
thing, and a fine tree you will be up if she accepts 
you.” 

“ I can take care of myself, thank you, Lady 
Merrivale.” 

“ You are not the first man who has thought 
that and come a cropper. Now, Claud, be sensible 
and go home to-morrow.” 

“ No, no. I have got till the 15th on the invita- 


tion.' 


120 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Well, don't say, when it is too late, that I have 
not warned you," and Lady Merrivale shook her 
head at him solemnly. 

Alison enjoyed her drive home more than any 
other part of the day. Sammy was so full of fun, 
and she always liked to hear the doctor talk. The 
conversational atmosphere was so much fresher 
than with Claud or the Merrivales, and Alison was 
very sensitive to atmospheric influence. 

“ I am very glad to have met you, my boy," said 
Jim, as they neared Barnscombe, “ for I have al- 
ways taken a great interest in you as a cricketer. I 
remember seeing you play as quite a little chap at a 
school match, and I knew then you would make 
something of it." 

“ Were you at Lord's?" Sammy wanted to 
know. 

“ No, I could not get away. It is your last year 
for Oxford, isn't it? You did rattling well. I sup- 
pose your county will want you now ? " 

“ Weren't your people awfully pleased at your 
getting into the eleven ? " asked Alison. 

The governor pretended not to be, but I saw his 
old eye gleam. One of my aunts, though, was the 
most killing. She wrote specially warning me 
against getting overheated or playing on damp 
grass, but she turns up at Lord’s as regular as 
clockwork, with a mackintosh and goloshes what- 
ever the weather may be." 

“ Was that the Miss Head who was at church 
on Sunday," said Alison. “ Petronel told me she 


THE PICNIC 


1 2 1 


was an aunt of yours who was breaking the jour- 
ney on her way to Cornwall.” 

“ Yes. And I had such a time with her on the 
way down. She has a great idea of breaking a 
journey. As a matter of fact it takes as long to 
come round here as to go straight to Penzance ; but 
that is a trifle. Well, at Paddington she suddenly 
saw a train starting, which she thought was hers, 
and imagine my feelings to see her rush up the 
platform and spring into it while it was in motion ! 
I thought she would have been killed. As it was, 
the impetus flung her on to her face on the carriage 
floor. And it was really an empty train being 
shunted into a siding. A porter had to leap into the 
guard’s van to conduct her back again in safety.” 

Alison and the doctor laughed. 

“ She was very heated and sooty when she re- 
turned,” continued Sammy, “ and had nearly 
broken her neck as well as the journey. I hope she 
has by now arrived safely, but one can’t be sure.” 

“ Tell me,” said Jim, “ what has become of that 
young fellow whom you succeeded as wicket- 
keeper? I forget his name.” 

“ O’Grady. He has quite broken down in 
health after squeezing through some inordinate ex- 
amination. Awful clever chap ! It is overwork, 
the doctors say, but they don’t seem to cure him.” 

“ I expect there are so few cases of overwork 
nowadays that they get no practice,” suggested 
Alison. 

“ And what do you know about it?” Jim Cary 
9 


122 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


asked her, with a smile — the kind of smile with 
which we watch little children, and in which amuse- 
ment and tenderness are equally balanced. 

“ A good deal,” with a toss of her head. “ I 
am not half as ignorant about everything as you 
think.” 

“ Did you ever get a prize at school ? ” Sammy 
wanted to know. 

“ Yes, several during my whole time.” 

“ Ah ! then I am afraid it is as Dr. Cary implies. 
The coves who get the prizes at boys’ schools 
never know anything.” 

“ Look,” cried Alison, after a while, “ the sun 
is playing at being King Midas. Everything he 
touches is turning to gold.” 

“ It will rain to-morrow,” drawled Sammy pro- 
saically. “ It has got a nasty, watery look.” 

Alison caught Jim Cary’s eye and smiled. The 
golden glory from the west burnished the many- 
coloured woods, and touched the russet bracken at 
their feet with the glow of fire. The sheaves of corn 
shone like bundles of sunbeams, and the rough 
stubble paths between them were turned into streets 
of gold. A few tired harvesters were trudging 
homewards along the lanes, and into the fabric of 
their well-worn clothes the sun was weaving a 
richness of colour which no manufacturer could 
copy. 

“^Hasn’t it been a lovely day ? ” said Alison ; 
“ I have enjoyed myself so much.” 

“ The best of it is that it is nearly time for din- 


THE PICNIC 


123 


ner ! ” gasped Lady Merrivale, as all the party 
alighted. “ You are sure you won’t stay, my 
dear?” 

“ No, thanks ; it is getting so late.” 

“ The best of it is that it is not nearly time for 
supper,” began Alison to Jim Cary, who was tak- 
ing her home, “ so we need not hurry in. It is so 
splendid out of doors.” 

“ This is the best part of the day, too,” he an- 
swered quietly. 

“ It was so hot earlier. I like Sammy Head, 
don’t you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! He is a very nice boy — what we 
used to call ‘ a good ’un ’ at school.” 

“ I am not sure if I am going to be fond of 
Petronel Merrivale,” doubtfully. 

Jim Cary shook his head. 

“ She is spoiled, I am afraid. She was a sweet 
little child, and then her father undertook her edu- 
cation. Her mother has done so since. She is 
wonderfully different from what she was only two 
years ago.” 

“ Nicer, do you mean? ” 

“ Much nicer mannered and better looking and 
more attractive altogether. Poor Petronel ! Some- 
thing may save her yet.” 

“ Falling *in love might, I should think,” sug- 
gested Alison thoughtfully ; “ the real thing, I 
mean. Not what girls talk of generally so glibly.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” he answered, though 
he was not thinking of Petronel. 


124 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ And so not quite as ignorant as you thought/’ 
said Alison mockingly. 

“ No. But more impertinent/’ he replied, with 
delight. “ The prizes you gained at school never 
happened to include one for good conduct, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ I forget now what they were for/’ defiantly. 

“ But do you forget what they were not for ? ” 

“ No, I remember. Good-night, Dr. Cary ; I 
am going to jump the brook and take the short cut 
up to the house/’ 

And Jim Cary stood watching her until the 
wood at the top of the hill wrapped her in its thick 
dark folds, and hid her from his admiring eyes. 


CHAPTER VI 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 

The day after Lady Merrivale’s picnic, Alison’s 
sketching lessons began. Claud Curtis arranged 
what he called a woodland studio among the grand 
old trees beyond Barnscombe Court, and Alison 
was delighted with the care he had taken to provide 
her with everything that was necessary, from a 
paint-brush to a camp-stool. The preparations 
were perfect, and the surrounding scenery so beau- 
tiful, both as regards foreground and the distant 
glimpses that could be seen beyond the wood, that 
Alison felt it would be quite easy to be an artist. 

“ Teach me,” she* begged, “ to paint light low 
down that shines between the trunks of the trees. 
That is my favourite effect in a picture.” 

Claud smiled. And, as he was not really going 
to teach her, he said : 

“We will begin with effects, then. A new style 
of the impressionist.” 

“ It is so kind of you to take all this trouble ! ” 
she exclaimed gratefully. 

“ It is not a bit kind ; because it is what we con- 
ventionally call taking trouble that in reality is giv- 


125 


126 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


in g ourselves the greatest amount of happiness. 
What costs us nothing is worth nothing. When I 
go to Christie's, it is not a bit kind of me to pay 
the price of some work of art I long to have." 

“ Oh, but that is different ! It is always kind 
to help people, especially if they are ignorant ones." 

Claud smiled enigmatically. 

“ Then will you help me ? " he asked. 

“ Of course I will, if I can." 

“ Let me put your face into my little sketches. 
Those that I hope to do while I watch you learn- 
ing." 

“ But why don't you do them without a figure 
at all ? " questioned Alison. “ I like pictures best 
that are only landscape." 

“ Oh, well, if you object it does not matter," and 
Claud gave a deep sigh. 

Alison felt very much ashamed of her ungra- 
ciousness. 

“ I was not objecting," she said quickly, “ I 
should not think of being so horrid when you are 
doing all this for me." 

“ It is very good practice for an artist to really 
learn a face," Claud explained, “ and if I sketch 
yours several times I shall have mastered a new 
type. It is only just for practice, don't you know? 
and my eye for colour likes your brown eyes and 
hair among all this bracken and brown foreground. 
A fair girl with blue eyes would have been no help 
to me just now." 

“ Not even a lovely girl like Petronel? " 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


127 


“ No ; you are best in these surroundings. And 
besides,” feeling his way cautiously, “ I have a 
special leaning toward brownness. There is some- 
thing almost cold to me in Miss Merrivale’s beauty. 
The exquisite daintiness of a piece of Dresden china 
compared with a bit of Nature’s own work. The 
latter may be more irregular, but it has infinitely 
more charm.” 

“ Is that why you put me in a brown frock in the 
sketch you did the other day ? ” 

“ Yes ; dress ought by its colour to emphasise 
the best bit of colouring in the face. For instance, 
a girl with good, yellowy-brown eyes could wear 
green and yellow as well as brown, and a girl with 
pink cheeks should wear pink ; if her eyes are gray 
she can wear mauve and any colour of which pink 
is a component part as well. You, too, would look 
well in pink. If you remember, the girl’s sunbon- 
net was pink. The best bit of colour to emphasise 
in your face is your complexion — and the colour of 
your eyes, too, is a russet brown, with red in it 
rather than yellow.” 

“ Petronel looks heavenly in blue. I suppose 
because of her eyes.” 

“ Exactly ; they are by far her most vivid bit of 
colouring. But the dress colour must only bring 
out the real colour.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“ When I say you would look well in pink it is 
because the pink of the dress would be stronger 
than that of your cheeks, and so intensify it. But 


128 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


if a girl has such a high colour as to be vivid pink 
of itself, she would want it toned down instead. 
It is the same with very red hair. That wants no 
emphasising, for it is as strong as is wanted of it- 
self, and so a detracting colour should be worn 
with it.” 

“ Why do most people look well in black ? ” 
Alison wanted to know. 

“ Because it nearly always darkens their eyes, 
which is becoming, and it does not detract from 
any other colour they may have. Only very pale 
people with eyes already black do not look well in 
mourning. It is interesting to know the why of 
things, isn't it? ” 

“ I aril interested in this,” said Alison, “ but I do 
not generally like to know the why of everything. 
It seems somehow to turn pictures into sums, 
and I always hated arithmetic and loved picture- 
books.” 

“ So did I. How many tastes we have in com- 
mon. But now, Miss Royse, watch me doing this 
bit of foreground, and you will soon learn the 
trick.” 

And Alison was quick to copy him, even if she 
could not copy Nature, which is a much more dif- 
ficult matter. His dexterous touch followed hers, 
and between them the water-colour grew, and the 
girl did not know how little of it was hers. She 
was delighted with the effect, and full of enthusiasm 
for doing more to-morrow. 

“ Your progress is marvellous,” Claud assured 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


I29 

her. “ Didn't I say you were an artist ready- 
made ? ” 

“ But have I really done that?" she exclaimed, 
looking at the block in amazement. 

“ You have indeed," said Claud, and he was 
not intentionally mendacious ; “ all the life of the 
sketch is yours. I only supplied a little of the tech- 
nique." 

“ I never dreamed that sketching would be so 
easy ! " and she smiled proudly at her work. 

“ It would not be so to everybody. Indeed to 
hardly any one but you, Miss Royse." 

And Alison drank in the flattery of the faintly 
accentuated “ you," and thought what a delightful 
man Claud Curtis was. They walked home most of 
the way together, and Alison rushed into the Old 
House in great excitement to show off her first 
sketch. 

“ Look, Grannie," she cried, waving the paper 
in triumph, “ this is what I have done. Look, 
Aunt Vinnie ! " 

“ Oh, Alison ! " exclaimed Lavinia admiringly, 
“ how wonderfully clever of you ! It is exquisite.” 

“ Not bad for a beginner," said Mrs. Garland 
approvingly; and this was great praise from her. 

Jim Cary was having tea at the Old House — 
he stood up with the others to examine the work of 
art, but he did not speak. Alison looked up at 
him inquiringly. 

“ Don't you think it is rather good ? " she asked 
coaxingly. 


130 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I think it is very good/’ he replied gravely. 

Lavinia regarded him with anxiety. 

“ Will you not give the child a word of praise? ” 
she begged. “ I am sure she deserves it.” 

“ James does not approve of these sketch- 
ing lessons,” Mrs. Garland explained ; “ he has 
been speaking to me very strongly on the sub- 
ject.” 

Alison tossed her head. “ You have no right to 
interfere with what I do, or to speak strongly on 
any such subject.” 

There are few downfalls so sudden, or which 
hurt more, than when we are unexpectedly pushed 
off a pinnacle of enthusiastic success into a depth of 
cold disapproval. 

“ I thought you admired art,” she replied, as he 
made no answer, “ or perhaps it is that you would 
not deign to call this art ? ” with fine scorn. 

“ Yes. This is a work of art,” and he picked it 
up and studied it carefully. 

“ Then what is the matter with it ? What makes 
you so horrid to me about it ? ” impatiently. 

“ I don't think I will tell you — now,” he an- 
swered gravely. 

“ Why not? ” persisted Alison, with flushed face 
and flashing eyes. “ I want to know what possible 
reason you could have for spoiling all my pleasure 
in my little picture, and trying to drown all my 
enthusiasm ? ” 

Lavinia fled from the room at this juncture, but 
her mother looked on with delight. 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


131 

“ The child is Margaret over again/’ murmured 
the old lady, with satisfaction. 

“ Well, tell me ! ” demanded Alison again, with 
a little stamp of her foot. 

“ It will hurt you,” he said, in a low voice, “ and 
I don’t want to do that here.” 

“ As you feel for me so much, perhaps you had 
rather not hurt me at all.? ” scornfully. 

“ I would rather not, of course ; but I am going 
to do so all the same.” 

“ Then do it now. I don’t care,” and her chin 
went into the air. “ What is the matter with my 
unfortunate picture ? ” 

“ Only the possessive pronoun. It is a very 
clever picture, and a very pretty one — but it is not 
yours.” 

“ How dare you say so ? ” But he saw the girl 
wince, and was sorry for her. 

“ You thought it was, I know,” he continued 
kindly ; “ but that fellow has deceived you. It is 
his work — not yours really.” 

“ He has not deceived me. What rubbish ! ” and 
Alison waxed angrier. “ Of course he helped me, 
but I did it, I tell you. You are horrid to say such 
things to me. Isn’t he, Grannie? ” 

“ Tut, tut, my dear! Do not appeal to me. I 
am out of this row.” 

And it was the first she had been out of at the 
Old House for nearly fifty years. 

“ And besides, if he did help me,” said Alison 
weakly, after a few seconds, during which her 


i3 2 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


grandmother had left the room, “ he taught me, 
too. And it is something to have learned even a 
little of how to produce such an effect as this.” 

“ There is no way of learning how to sketch a 
whole without passing through all the stages of 
drudgery that lead up to it ; and it is false teaching 
to have made you think otherwise. I know,” and 
he smiled slightly, “ how much it appeals to you — 
the thought of doing anything without the trouble 
of learning how to do it. I know, too, that you 
are wonderfully quick to pick up an idea, or a 
trick, or an imitation, and it is clever to do so ; but 
that kind of thing is not art.” 

Alison's eyes softened. She might be a wilful, 
but she was not in the least an obstinate girl. 

“ Do you remember telling me that you loved 
art so much that you knew you could never be an 
artist? ” Jim asked her. 

“ But Mr. Curtis says I am an artist.” 

“ Then he says what he knows to be. untrue,” 
exclaimed the doctor hotly, “ and he ought to be 
ashamed of himself ! ” 

“ You are very rude! ” and the girl flashed up 
again ; “ and I won’t listen to abuse of my friends ! ” 

“ Is that fellow one of your friends already?” 

“ Indeed he is. And,” with a defiant gesture, 
“ I am going sketching with him again to-morrow.” 

The doctor set his lips. 

“ I have no power to control your actions,” he 
said shortly. 

“ I am thankful to say you have not ! I wish 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


133 

also that you had no power to criticise them; it 
would tend more to our being friends.” 

“ No, it would not,” he replied in a low voice, 
as he went out through the garden-door to look for 
Lavinia. 

“ Poor Alison seems a little upset this evening,” 
said her aunt apologetically, when she and the doc- 
tor were strolling up and down the lawn together. 
“ I am so sorry about it, James. I am afraid she 
spoke to you a little disrespectfully.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” he replied, rather impatient- 
ly ; “ but I am very uneasy about this artist and 
these sketching expeditions.” 

“Still, James, what can we do? Alison must 
get engaged to some one, I suppose, though it is so 
difficult for us to realise that she is old enough.” 

“ Good gracious, Lavinia, what are you talking 
about? Alison engaged to that young puppy! I 
would wring his neck first ! ” 

“ Oh, James, I am afraid I have vexed you ; but 
I did not know Mr. Curtis was not nice, or of 
course I should not have mentioned such a thing. 
Besides, I spoke unwittingly. Oh, I am afraid you 
thought me wanting in delicacy to make such an 
allusion ! I was only repeating what Mother had 
said ; I should never have thought of it myself.” 

“ That does not matter. I want you to feel that 
you can say anything to me. But I wish he had 
never come to Barnscombe ! ” 

“ He is not a proper artist, then, I suppose ? ” 
she ventured to ask timidly. 


134 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ He is clever enough — far too clever ! That is 
the worst of it ! That sketch is awfully clever — and 
it was cleverer still to make poor Alison believe she 
had painted it.” 

“ And did not she really, James? ” 

“ Of course not ! That is the work of a prac- 
tised hand.” 

“ It was wonderful of you to find that out ! ” 
exclaimed Lavinia. “ I had quite jumped to the 
conclusion that dear Alison was a genius, and 
would have pictures in the Royal Academy next 
year.” 

The doctor laughed somewhat grimly. 

“ Then isn't she a genius, James? ” 

“ No. She is something better,” he added, in a 
low tone. 

“ I am quite disappointed,” continued Lavinia 
sadly. 

“ I am not,” he replied under his breath. 

The sketching lessons continued every day. At 
first Alison was shy of praise, for Jim Cary had 
slain her faith in her own powers, but Claud 
was so kind and encouraging, and gave her so 
many hints by which she could in truth produce cer- 
tain effects, that the soreness healed, and she began 
to find much pleasure in their daily intercourse. 
Every now and then a suggestion of the absurd 
flashed across her mind, but she dispelled it as un- 
grateful and unkind, and felt a pride in the fact that 
though Dr. Cary might think her so young and 
ignorant, Claud Curtis was willing to sit at her 


LEARNING TO SKETCH ^5 

feet and commune with her as an equal on the 
things they both loved so well. 

“ It was distinctly providential my coming to 
Barnscombe,” he said one day, as, after their work 
was over, they started on a walk to the shore. 
“ Two invitations came by the same post, and it 
was solely because I opened Lady Merrivale’s first 
that I decided to accept it.” 

“ I am very glad you did,” replied Alison sin- 
cerely. 

The other invitation had been to spend two 
nights with a friend in a very unlovely London sub- 
urb instead of a fortnight in the most beautiful part 
of beautiful Devonshire. But Claud only remem- 
bered the divine interposition which had directed 
his steps to Barnscombe. By this time he had com- 
pletely forgotten all the details of the other invita- 
tion. 

“ It is strange, too,” he continued, “ how among 
a crowd of new acquaintances only one or two 
friends shine forth, as fixed stars in a firmament of 
wandering ones. I knew by some strange instinct 
that I had not found a friend up at the Court till 
I saw you.” 

“ I suppose friendship and acquaintanceship are 
different in kind, not in degree ? ” said Alison 
thoughtfully. 

“ Of course they are,” eagerly. “ How quickly 
you understand my meaning! You and I were pre- 
destined to be friends, I feel, from the beginning 
of time.” 


136 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ That is a long while ago ! ” said Alison, with 
a smile. “ But at any rate we are friends now.” 

“We are indeed! And I cannot tell you,” he 
continued earnestly, “ how much your friendship 
means to me. No one has ever understood me be- 
fore as you do.” 

“ Not even the friend you lost?” asked Alison, 
slightly surprised. 

Claud had forgotten him for the moment; but, 
with a flash of thought, he compared the ready, 
delicate sympathy of the girl he was beginning to 
care for with the rough comradeship of an old 
school-friend; and his voice rang with sincerity as 
he answered : 

“ It is so different — your way of understanding 
and his ! There must be a clumsiness about a man 
friend which is foreign to the tender insight of a 
woman's soul. I valued his friendship very highly, 
but that was before I knew what yours was like.” 

“ I am not sure whether you quite understand 
me,” said Alison slowly. 

“ I do. I do. Better than you do yourself.” 

“ But I only show you one of my moods,” ar- 
gued the girl, “ and you can't really understand a 
person till you have seen them all.” 

“ There you are mistaken, my dear Miss Royse. 
The knowledge of experience is vastly inferior to 
that of intuition, and it is the latter which has re- 
vealed you to me.” 

Alison looked doubtful. Deep down in her 
heart, where Claud had never been, she knew that 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


137 


he did not understand her as Jim Cary did. But 
she also felt that it was a delightful change not to 
be perfectly understood, and to pretend to herself 
that she really was all, and only all, that Claud 
Curtis believed. 

“ You read my soul as a book,” he continued, 
“ and you interpret the secret pages wherein are 
written all my ideals. I would rather lose my life 
than my idealism. It means so much to me.” 

Claud did not know that if he had used the word 
ambition instead of idealism his statement would 
have been almost true. 

“ Would you really?” she exclaimed. “ I 
should not have thought that you would have died 
for your ideals. But few men have been ready to 
die for love of God, and fewer still for love of man ; 
and ideals, though beautiful pictures and promises 
of the future, are hardly stronger than death. You 
might live for them, I can believe, but to die for 
them is a different matter.” 

“ There you mistake me,” he cried heroically. 
“ It is just what I would do. I feel the power of 
the greatest self-sacrifice within me — that which 
can only spend itself in death.” 

Alison \tas awed by his tone and impressed by 
the intensity of his enthusiasm. 

“ I am not a bit great and good as you are,” she 
said simply. 

Claud looked at her with love in his eyes. What 
would not life be with such a companion always at 
his side ? Then he remembered it would mean giv- 

10 


138 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

ing up his expensive rooms in St. James's Street, and 
he sighed over the cruelty of Fate. Why had not 
the fickle goddess endowed this perfect girl with a 
fortune large enough to meet his demands? Then 
they might have been so happy together. 

“ Of course I try to be good," Alison went on in 
a low voice, “ but it is so difficult sometimes." 

“ Is it really?" exclaimed Claud, who, having 
never made any effort in that direction, had never 
discovered the difficulty. “ I should not have 
thought it would have been to — to people like our- 
selves." 

Alison's eyes had wandered over the wide 
stretch of sand and sea before them, and she hardly 
heard his last words. The talk was stirring mem- 
ories that were wider and more far-reaching even 
than that distant horizon line — memories of child- 
ish resolutions and girlish dreams, and the an- 
guished longing, after she had lost her mother, so 
to follow that good example that, with her, she 
might be made a partaker of the heavenly Kingdom. 
Claud saw the trouble on her face, and his heart 
beat more quickly. If it had not been for the 
thought of St. James's Street, he would most cer- 
tainly have tried to comfort her witfr'the gift of 
his love. Indeed he felt it very hard that he was 
prevented from doing so. 

“ I will paint a picture," he exclaimed, “ the 
greatest I have ever done ; and it shall be a shore 
and sea and sky exactly like to-day's, and there 
shall be two figures in the foreground — a beggar 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


139 


girl and a poor fisherman, and he shall just be 
starting in his boat, obliged to leave her to try to 
earn enough for a day’s bread. And she shall be 
bidding him God-speed, with a great, tender sym- 
pathy in her eyes. And when it hangs in the Acad- 
emy, and the crowds stand before it, only you and * 
I will know what our picture means.” 

“ If it means that I wish you God-speed it is 
right. And you will put in that splendid reach of 
country beyond the bay, and the light and shade 
on the hills, and the far dusky headland out yon- 
der ? ” And her eyes sparkled with interest in the 
idea. 

“ I will make a study of it to-morrow, and when 
I have used it for the great picture I will send it 
back to you as a keepsake.” 

“ How good of you ! I do like your sketches so 
much.” 

“ Look here,” and he undid his portfolio, “ I 
have lots of them — choose a couple.” 

Alison turned them all over. “ You have put 
me in every one,” rather reproachfully. 

“ I could not help it. Forgive me. I can but 
offer them all to you in reparation,” and he looked 
pleadingly at her. 

“ Oh, I could not be so greedy as that ! ” laughed 
the girl ; “ but I should like this one for the wood, 
and that one for the bit of sea.” 

“ And this for the piece of old-fashioned garden, 
where my lady is gathering flowers.” 

“ I sha’n’t know what to do with such riches.” 


140 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ You can give them to your people/’ he sug- 
gested. “ They will be glad enough of your por- 
trait.” 

“ It is awfully good of you ! ” 

“ No, it is not, Miss Royse, for I have kept the 
best for myself now.” 

When Alison displayed her treasures at home, 
Jim Cary again happened to be there. They all 
admired the wonderful cleverness of Claud’s touch, 
and the admirable skill with which he had made 
Alison into a village girl in the wood, and a fisher- 
man’s daughter on the shore, and an old-world lady 
in a garden, and a milkmaid in a meadow. 

“ Which would you like, Grannie ? ” she asked 
generously. 

“ The milkmaid one, my dear.” 

“ And you, Aunt Vinnie? ” 

“ I prefer the lady in the garden. There is 
something so refined in the muslin fichu and the 
large hat with feathers. And of course such a 
dress as that is more becoming than the poor girl’s 
clothes.” 

“ My favourite is the wood one,” continued Ali- 
son. “ I am so glad you neither chose it.” 

A little while afterwards, when Lavinia had gone 
to feed her fowls and Alison was sitting swinging 
on the hammock, Jim Cary came striding across 
the grass towards her. 

“ Won’t you give me the remaining sketch?” 
he asked directly. “ I do want it so.” 

Before Alison could answer him, some little evil 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


141 

imp hurried to remind her that the doctor hated 
Claud Curtis, and had done all he could to prevent 
and spoil her pleasure in these sketching expedi- 
tions ; and, moreover, assured her that he deserved 
punishment rather than reward for his action all 
through in the matter. 

“ I am afraid I cannot spare it,” she said slowly. 

Jim looked at her and read her face as an open 
book. 

“ You know that is not the reason,” he replied 
quickly. 

Now Alison had been a great deal lately in the 
company of Claud Curtis, and she had enjoyed the 
way in which she had been able every now and 
then to adopt a fancy role with him, or else only 
to show the little effective pieces of her character. 
The keen understanding of Jim Cary was to her 
just then an unattractive contrast to the much- 
talked-about surface understanding of the young 
artist, and she was impatient of it. 

“ Perhaps I may be allowed to know my own 
reasons even better than you do,” she answered de- 
fiantly. “ I am thinking of sending it to — to an 
old schoolfellow.” 

The doctor noted the slight hesitation, but he 
passed it over. 

“ Don’t do that, please, Alison. It would give 
me so much pleasure — far more than it could give 
her.” 

“ How can you tell? You don’t know how fond 
she was of me,” exclaimed the girl perversely. • 


142 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I ask you as a great favour to let me have it,” 
he repeated. “ Don’t be cross because I vexed you 
the other day. I did not do so out of unkindness, 
you know.” 

Now when people are sore about anything, they 
very much resent any allusion to the real reason as 
a possible one ; so Alison tossed her head, and said 
scornfully : 

“ You are quite mistaken in supposing I am 
cross. Only I won’t be dictated to in everything by 
you,” she added, in childish petulance. “ You were 
quite ready to wet-blanket all my nice times with 
Mr. Curtis if you could; and now when you have 
found you could not, you want one of the best 
sketches as a reward. And I won’t give it you ; so 
now you know the truth.” 

Jim smiled. He was not afraid of Alison’s an- 
ger, and he still meant to have the picture by some 
means. He would have given almost any price for 
it ; it pleased him so intensely. The poise of the girl’s 
figure was perfect, as she stood barefooted on the 
shore, r.esting for a moment from her work, with 
the shrimping-net in her hand. And on her face 
was that pathetic look which Jim Cary loved best of 
all Alison’s expressions, and would give almost 
everything he possessed to have to look at daily in 
his home. 

During the following week the artist’s visit at 
the Court came to an end. 

“ Keep me a little longer,” he begged Lady 
Merrivale, “ for I am in love, and the rest of the 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


143 

world is all so dreary and empty where she is 
not/’ 

Lady Merrivale was too much a man's woman 
ever to dream of saying, “ I told you so." 

“ There would be so little else to say," she once 
confided to a friend, “if you allowed yourself that 
indulgence. That is why Bob is such a devoted 
husband. I am frivolous and extravagant, and I 
flirt and gamble and do almost everything he dis- 
approves of ; but when his plans, against which I 
have warned him, turn out badly, as men's plans 
always do, I am surprised and sympathetic. It 
pays in the long run." 

So when Claud pleaded for an extension of his 
leave because he was in love with Alison, Lady 
Merrivale was extremely sorry for him. 

“ Poor boy ! I wish I could. But we are all 
going away to-morrow. Is she in love with you ? " 

Now it had never occurred to Claud that any 
one, especially she whom he had delighted to hon- 
our in so exceptional a way, would not be so. 

“ I have not asked her," he explained. “ I could 
not, because of my cruel circumstances." 

“ You have a thousand a year, you extravagant 
boy. If you really do love the girl " 

“ Of course I love her. But, Lady Merrivale, 
think what a little way a thousand a year would 

go!” 

“ In your present mode of living, perhaps. But 
you could take a house in the suburbs on that, and 
paint just as well." 


144 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ The word suburbs makes me shudder. I 
should die at Maida Vale, for instance. Who could 
live at such a place ? ” 

As a matter of fact a considerable number of 
men and women can and do, and of this Lady Mer- 
rivale hastened to remind him. 

“ But I am different,” he pleaded. “ A stunted, 
suburban life would blight my soul and soil my 
Art. And I must be true to my Art, and think of 
it even before myself.” 

“ I am not sure whether Alison does love you,” 
continued her ladyship. “ I watched her very care- 
fully yesterday when she was up here, and I have a 
specialist’s eye for such cases.” 

“ But she will,” Claud exclaimed confidently, “ if 
I ask her.” 

“ vShe likes and admires you, and your clever- 
ness in art appeals to her enormously; but,” and 
Lady Merrivale shook her head, “ she is too friendly 
for this stage of the proceedings.” 

“ She is kicking against the pricks as regards 
that old doctor now,” said Claud. “ Haven’t you 
noticed it ? ” 

“ Yes, I have. But I am not sure if that is 
a good sign for you either. She is ready to fight 
Jim Cary any minute and to defy him all along the 
line, but that kind of thing is not so far removed 
from love as a cheerful, easy friendliness.” 

“ If only she had twelve hundred a year instead 
of two, how happy we might be ! ” sighed Claud. 

“ You might be happy on much less,” remarked 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


145 


Lady Merrivale severely. “ At least many people 
are. Not that I am recommending the course, for 
it takes about twelve thousand a year to keep me 
happy. Still, Alison is not an expensive girl, and 
you might paint a few portraits every year to keep 
the pot boiling. ,, 

“ Paint for money ! Never,” cried Claud, utterly 
unconscious for the moment that nothing would in- 
duce him to put his brush on canvas for anything 
less than the full market value. 

“ Then go home to-morrow, and forget all about 
the girl. She soon will forget you, unless I am 
much mistaken.” 

Claud did not like this way of stating the cir- 
cumstances. He wanted to go home, to his com- 
fortable St. James’s Street rooms, with a sad heart, 
and a soul satisfied with the sacrifice he was making 
for Art and Alison and Right, all rolled in one. 
And, moreover, to feel that she would remember 
and care for him till death, and that Fate would 
have to pay him a very large account some day as a 
recompense for her cruel treatment of him now. 

When he had gone, Alison’s enthusiasm for 
sketching faded. Secretly she made a few attempts 
all by herself, and the results were not inspiring. 
Then the memory of Claud began also to fade, and 
the superficial interest, which was really all she 
had felt for him, was replaced by a sudden friend- 
ship with a young philanthropist lady who had 
taken a funny little house down by the sea, and 
filled it with a dozen or more street arabs from the 


146 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


slums of London. Alison's wonderful understand- 
ing of children taught her both how to play with 
and to rule them. And Jim Cary drew a deep breath 
of satisfaction as he heard her merry laugh, and 
saw her paddling down on the shore with a tribe 
of appreciative urchins. 

“ I am so sorry," she exclaimed one evening, 
when he overtook her walking homewards after a 
hard day's play, “ for Sister Ursula cannot afford 
to have any more children down from London. She 
collected nearly enough for these beforehand, and 
I have helped her out with them ; but I do wish be- 
fore this lovely autumn weather is over that she 
could have had one more lot." 

“ How much would that cost?" asked the 
doctor. 

“ Ten pounds," said Alison sadly. 

“ I will give you ten pounds for that sketch," he 
continued. 

Alison's face was a study, and Jim smiled to 
himself. 

“ Won't you help Sister Ursula independently of 
me ? " she asked breathlessly. 

“ No. I have given away in charity all that I 
can afford this year. But I have still a little fund for 
works of art and books, and it is out of that only I 
can afford ten pounds." 

“ But I vowed you should not have it," hotly. 

“ Then the children will lose their holiday." 

“ How can you take such horrid, mean advan- 
tage of me? " she cried impetuously. 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


147 


He did not speak, and she went on : 

“ Of course I would not give in about this if it 
only affected myself, but that is just where you are 
so horrid — you give me no choice in the matter 
when I know how much it means to those wretched 
children ! How can you catch me in such a trap ? 
I never thought you could be such a — such a 
brute ! ” And she stamped her foot. 

“ If you will send me the picture to-night, I will 
bring you the money by breakfast-time,” he said 
quietly. 

“ I won’t walk or talk with you any more,” she 
replied wrathfully. “ You are too mean ! I should 
never have believed it of you,” and she turned her 
back on him and walked up the garden path with 
her head very high in the air. 

“ How well she looks in a rage,” murmured Jim 
to himself, as he watched her with a smile. 

That evening a parcel was brought in to him, 
and inside it with the sketch was a slip of paper, on 
which was written, “ Grudgingly and of necessity.” 

“ I have never seen her handwriting before,” 
he thought, as he folded it up and put it in his 
pocket-book. Then he sat long, looking at the pic- 
ture. “ Poor little thing ! What a shame it was of 
me ; but it was the only way to get this.” And he 
smiled to himself several times. 

The new batch of children enjoyed themselves 
even more than their predecessors, and Alison spent 
all her time with them and Sister Ursula. Lavinia 
went with her once to help, but it was not quite in 


• 148 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


her line. It was the last day, and Dr. Cary had 
promised a feast of good things to the youngsters. 

“ Shall we spread a nice table on the lawn ? ” 
suggested Lavinia. 

“ No, let them sit about anyhow and have it 
absolutely free and easy,” was Alison’s opinion ; 
and Sister Ursula agreed with her. 

So the children lay on the grass and ate plum- 
cake and drank milk and pulled crackers and nib- 
bled apples till they literally could do so no more. 
Lavinia’s gentle “ Don’t ” to this or that made not 
the slightest impression on these old little children 
of the slums. 

“ Her’s a green ’un,” observed one youth of ten- 
der years, pointing Lavinia out with his thumb. 

“ The big ’un’s my lydy,” announced another, 
his haggard cheeks bulging with good things. 

“ No more yourn nor mine,” argued a friend 
with physical emphasis. 

“ Is the gentleman a old ’un or a young ’un? ” a 
small boy wanted to know. 

“ Old ’un,” replied a friend. 

“ Seen him chuck a stone in the sea ? Old ’un’s 
don’t throw like ’im.” 

“ Middlin’ I should sye,” decided a friend. 

“ Arsk Bill. ’E’ll twig a cove’s sort better’n 
most.” 

“ ’E’s a old ’un,” announced Bill shrewdly, “ but 
’e’s fust prize at that.” 

Then Dr. Cary produced a box of sweets for 
every one tied up with coloured ribbons. 


LEARNING TO SKETCH 


149 

“ You haven't opened yours, I see,” Alison ob- 
served to Bill in passing. 

“ 1 shall tyke it ’ome to the byby,” he explained ; 
and it struck her that not one of these poor little 
chaps opened the tempting boxes, which with one 
accord they decided to take home for less fortunate 
friends and relations. She wondered whether a 
group of small Eton boys would have been as un- 
selfish. 

“ It has been a splendid time, and they have been 
so happy ! ” she exclaimed to Jim, as they stood by 
themselves for a moment on the sands. 

“ You have given it them,” he said gently. 

“ No, you did really, with the ten pounds.” 

“ You are wrong there. You paid for it with a 
heavier price than that — at the cost of your own will 
and way. A difficult thing to do, I know, but it 
makes the gift a great one.” 

Alison looked up at him with very sweet eyes. 

“ I am sorry I was so cross and horrid, and made 
a fuss,” she said earnestly ; “ it seems so cheap and 
paltry now. Will you forgive me?” 

“ You know that I do,” very tenderly. 

“ And,” here Alison's voice sank into a whis- 
per, “ I am very pleased for you to have the pic- 
ture — perhaps I wish I had given it to you at first.” 

“ You dear ! ” he exclaimed, but in so low a tone 
that the girl hardly heard him. 

Then Lavinia came up and they all went home 
together. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 

Lavinia had just come in from a long after- 
noon’s district-visiting, and was very tired. The 
atmosphere of the hot little kitchens was exhaust- 
ing even in that bright, autumn weather, and she 
had to listen to many long tales of suffering and 
symptoms before she was allowed to escape. That 
her words of comfort were conventional and unreal 
she could not help, and besides it did not really 
matter to the good folk, who wanted somebody to 
talk to much more than somebody to talk to them. 
And Lavinia was a good listener. She had listened 
to other people all her life. Perhaps if she had been 
a little more egotistical and had had a stronger in- 
dividuality she would have been a happier and more 
interesting woman, but it is doubtful if she would 
have made a better district-visitor. 

“ Come and have tea, and I will make you some 
toast,” cried her niece, “ and forget about the tire- 
some village people. You look so fagged, dear! ” 

“ I cannot forget them,” said Lavinia sadly ; “ I 
have just come from the Worsleys’. It seems a 
great mystery that poor Annie should have been 
taken.” 

150 


THE POSTMAN'S STORY 


l S l 

Lavinia always spoke of those who have been 
called to a brighter world and more glorious in- 
heritance as “ poor ” — a curious custom among 
many Christians. 

“ I knew how it would be,” observed Mrs. Gar- 
land grimly. “ If Mrs. Worsley had taken my ad- 
vice and given Annie cod-liver oil, this would never 
have happened.” 

“ Oh ! Grannie,” chimed in Alison, “ cod-liver 
oil would never have saved her from fever.” 

“ Really, my dear,” said her grandmother, in a 
severe voice, “ you should not get into the habit of 
giving your opinion on subjects of which you know 
nothing.” 

Alison laughed. No reproof cast a cloud across 
her sunny temper. 

“ But is cod-liver oil really good for fever, Gran- 
nie ? ” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. 

“ Annie needed cod-liver oil,” continued the old 
lady, ignoring Alison’s last remark, “ and I warned 
Mrs. Worsley how it would be if she did not give it 
her. It is a great pity to lose a girl like that. She 
was so good with her needle.” 

“ It seems a great mystery that it should have 
been Annie who has died, and not her sister,” said 
Lavinia wearily. “ Her grandmother will miss her 
terribly. While if only it had been Lizzie it would 
have been a happy release for all.” 

“ It would indeed ! ” added her mother emphati- 
cally. 

“ Oh, no ! ” interupted Alison. “ Think of poor 


152 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Benjamin Wedge. He is awfully fond of Lizzie. I 
have so often seen them this summer out together in 
an evening/' 

“ Evening indeed, such nonsense ! ” snapped 
Mrs. Garland. “ I don't approve of girls in Lizzie 
Worsley's position spending their evenings any- 
where except in the kitchen." 

“ But, Grannie, kitchens are so stuffy, and Ben- 
jamin is Lizzie's young man, only he isn't very 
young." 

“ Young man ! " ejaculated the old lady ; “ upon 
my word, what are the working classes coming to, 
with their clubs, and recreation rooms, and young 
men? In my time they were content with mending 
stockings, not philandering over the country with 
lovers and such rubbish." 

“.I have watched those two girls grow up," ob- 
served Lavinia in the pause, “ and it has gone to my 
heart sometimes to see old Mrs. Worsley when Liz- 
zie was worse than usual." 

“ What is the matter really with Lizzie?" asked 
Alison, eating large slices of bread and honey. 

“ It began quite as a child," explained her aunt. 
“ She would be so strange and melancholy for days 
together, and then she would fly into one of those 
dreadful passions, and they were quite afraid of what 
she would do." 

“ And she gets no better, either," added Mrs. 
Garland. “ That makes it so bad for Mrs. Wors- 
ley. She has such a horror of anything like mad- 


ness. 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


153 

“ It is dreadfully sad for her,” and Lavinia’s eyes 
filled with sympathetic tears. 

“ And yet Benjamin Wedge is in love with her,” 
said Alison musingly. “ I do like to think of that.” 

“ What are you talking about, child ? ” asked her 
grandmother. “ It is most idiotic of Wedge.” 

“ Why, I mean it is so splendid to see that love 
is nothing that can really be bought or earned,” 
explained the girl, “ and that the ideal is open to 
all. Poor Lizzie is so heavily handicapped in all 
life’s work, and yet the gift of love has been given 
to her.” 

Lavinia looked surprised. 

“ I think love is earned,” she remarked. “ We 
must be good and gentle and amiable to be loved.” 

Alison tossed her head. 

“ That is not love,” she said impetuously. “ I 
am talking about the real thing, and not the liking 
we can buy with niceness or sweetness, or anything 
of our own.” 

“I cannot imagine what Wedge sees in her?” 
queried Lavinia. 

She never entered into arguments with Alison. 
She so soon was out of her depth in such talk. 

“ That is just it,” exclaimed the girl trium- 
phantly. “ Nobody else ever can imagine just what 
two people see in each other to love. That proves it 
is a gift to them both, and nothing they have done 
themselves. If it were, other people would see it 
too.” 

“ You are talking nonsense, my dear,” inter- 


154 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


polated her grandmother. And then, as if to decide 
the whole question, “ Lizzie Worsley has a queer, 
pretty little face and a pair of sad, dark eyes. That 
is quite enough explanation when a man is in the 
case.” 

“ I do admire her eyes,” added Alison ; “ they 
are like a hunted stag's, with just the wild look that 
makes them more beautiful.” 

“ I wish she could be taken into some institu- 
tion,” suggested Lavinia. 

“ Oh ! Aunt Vinnie, how can you ? She would 
be so wretched, and she is really quite happy now.” 

“ She is not bad enough for that,” replied the 
old lady. “ It is more like an utterly uncontrolled 
temper; but she will do something violent one of 
these days, you mark my words.” 

“ She generally looks very sad but quite quiet,” 
said Alison. 

“ Oh, that is her usual way ! As melancholy as 
can be till some little thing puts her out, and then 
she is mad with fury. In my opinion the girl is 
possessed with a devil,” and the old lady's cap 
strings fairly flapped with emphasis. 

“ I do not like her at all,” observed Lavinia. 

“ But Benjamin does,” chimed in her niece, 
“ and that is what really matters.” 

“ And there she is, a burden to her grandmoth- 
er,” continued Mrs. Garland, “ for there never was 
a more helpless girl with her fingers ; and industri- 
ous Annie gone ! It is, indeed, a great mystery ! ” 

And the old lady shook her head with a severity 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


155 


that indicated, if* she had been consulted, matters 
would have been arranged much more satisfactorily. 

“ It interests me immensely/’ exclaimed Alison ; 
“ it is such a strange romance, and so pathetic, too.” 

“ If Benjamin Wedge thought more about his 
work and less about that girl he would be a wiser 
man,” Mrs. Garland observed finally. 

“ But not such a happy one, Grannie.” 

“ You are young as yet, Alison,” said her grand- 
mother decidedly, an elderly form of argument 
which is as unanswerable as it is unfair. “ When 
you are older you will know better.” 

Now here Mrs. Garland was mistaken. It was 
to be hoped that her grandchild might always know 
as well. For when the deeper thing has once been 
revealed to us, and that is no question of learning 
or of age, we can never know any better, and for the 
very good reason that we have seen a glimpse of 
the best. 

Benjamin Wedge was the Barnscombe postman, 
a man made of more sensitive fibre than is common 
among the strong, stolid, west-country folk. A man 
who, in his youth, had seen visions, and was now 
in middle life beginning to dream dreams ; of deli- 
cate health, not improved by his long daily walk in 
all weathers, and with a sense of duty that neither 
storms nor sickness could daunt. The postman 
never failed to come his rounds, and there was some- 
thing in his work that appealed to the man’s artistic 
temperament. There were not many letters to de- 
liver, but Benjamin felt that in each he had a share. 


1 5 6 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


He knew the handwriting of the boys away from 
home at work in the world, and was glad to bring 
anxious mothers the tidings for which they were 
looking out. He recognised the different post- 
marks which indicated that news had come from 
little maidservants in Exeter, Portsmouth, or even 
far-away London, and he always wanted to know 
how they were getting on. With a black-edged 
envelope the postman gave his ready sympathy, and 
a tender longing to be able to help ; and every let- 
ter, whether its tidings were good or bad, the Barns- 
combe people felt had been brought them by a 
friend. During his long country tramps Benjamin 
would enter into all the stories which are woven 
into the corners of the great web of life's romance ; 
and the hallowing influence of Nature, when he was 
alone with her in so many moods, entered into the 
man's soul, and taught him many a lesson he was 
too illiterate to repeat. And Benjamin loved Lizzie 
Worsley. The usual red-cheeked village maidens 
had never appealed to him in the very least, but the 
small, wan face and beautiful, pleading eyes of this 
girl, the strange loneliness that shut her out from 
ordinary happy life, and the sad ring of her soft, 
sweet voice, all drew him to her with invisible cords. 
He loved as few men in his class ever do love, and 
so was misjudged and misunderstood by the ready- 
tongued, average people, who always commend the 
practical and condemn the romantic, whether it is 
to be found in a hidden country village or within 
the very red cord of society life. 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


iS7 


“ They all wish it was me as had died in place 
of Annie," Lizzie told him that night as they sat 
together on the trunk of a fallen tree in one 
of the lanes that wound down from the village 
to the shore. “ If it wasn't for you I'd wish it 
myself." 

“ Don't say that," cried Benjamin, with a quick 
pain in his voice ; “ I’d sooner every one in all the 
world died afore you, dear." 

The girl smiled. 

“ Would you really? " she asked half-anxiously. 

A warm glow swept over her companion's face. 
He was a tall, gaunt man, who ought to have been 
a very vigorous one, only disease had laid her with- 
ering hand upon his powers and claimed his 
strength. 

“ Would I really? " he repeated. “ Eh, but you 
know I would ! " 

“ I like to hear you say so. Nobody else does 
ever want me, you know." 

He took her thin little hand in his, and crumpled 
it up with tender roughness. 

“ I want you, my lass," he said gently. “ And 
when we're together like this I don't want nothing 
more." 

“ I am very happy," she whispered. 

He looked down at the white, upturned face 
with its strange, deep eyes, and he thought how dear 
she was. The faded cotton frock and patched boots 
were in his eyes as the garments of a queen, and the 
restless expression that was born of a sometimes 


158 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

beclouded brain, only drew him closer to help and 
to hold her in her need. 

“ Ain’t it a lovely evening ? ” he exclaimed, as 
the fleecy clouds all flushed red with the sun’s good- 
night kiss. 

“ And I’m always so glad as your work is over 
early enough for us to have our evenings out,” 
she said, smiling up at him ; “ but now the winter’s 
coming, I’m feared we sha’n’t have so many 
on ’em.” 

“We are rare and lucky folks, dear!” he said 
simply. 

They did not look particularly lucky folks to 
the passer-by. And those who knew them better 
thought them less lucky still, seeing that all life 
brought them in the way of happiness was a walk 
after tea; and, for the rest, toil and poverty, and, 
worse still, an ever-threatening malady that no doc- 
tor could cure. But neighbours and friends do not 
always see everything, though they talk of much. 
And Benjamin Wedge was right when he spoke of 
himself and Lizzie Worsley as lucky folks ; for they 
carried between them a talisman that touched their 
humble lot with, as it were, the touch of an angel, 
and lifted their stunted life into an atmosphere that 
breathed of Heaven. 

“ I were very bad this morning,” continued 
Lizzie. “ Old Mrs. Garland called, and she looked 
at me horridly, and I hated her.” 

The man drew her nearer to him. 

“ Poor little lass ! But don’t you hate her, dear. 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


159 

There ain’t room in our lives for hating folks; ’tis 
all taken up with loving each other.” 

His tender, sympathetic voice soothed the pass- 
ing trouble. 

“ I forget what hating feels like when you speak 
to me,” she said softly ; “ but when you’re away I 
get wild with hating folks, and it’s all dark some- 
how, Ben.” 

“ I know, I know. But I’ll take care of you.” 

“ And you won’t be angry with me if I forget, 
and do things as I hadn’t ought, will you ? ” she 
pleaded. 

“ Never angry with you, my lass. I couldn’t be.” 

“ Not even if I killed any one? I’m afeared 
sometimes as I might.” And her voice was very 
tremulous. 

“ Never angry with you,” he repeated solemnly, 
“ only desperate sorry for you, dear.” 

“ I like you to be that,” she said wistfully. “ I 
want it somehow as I can’t understand.” 

“ It don’t matter about understanding. I’ve got 
you safe.” 

The girl broke into a glad little laugh. 

“ Then I don’t want to understand,” she said 
brightly. “ I just want you, Ben.” 

“ I am here right enough, little lass, and I’ll see 
to you,” and his arm clasped her closer than before. 

Then they strolled away down the lane that led 
through fairyland for them, and round by the sand- 
hills to the village again. 

It was not long after this that Dr. Cary took to 


160 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

the Old House the news of the postman’s serious 
illness. 

“ Poor fellow ! I am afraid he won’t pull 
through ! He went out with Lizzie when it cleared 
up in the evening, and never changed his soaking 
wet clothes.” And the doctor’s face looked grave 
and worried. 

“ Oh, I am so sorry ! ” exclaimed Alison. “ Poor 
Lizzie ! ” 

“ Troubles never come singly ! ” sighed Lavinia. 

“ I always knew Benjamin would get no good 
philandering after that half-witted girl,” said Mrs. 
Garland snappishly. “ It does seem a misfor- 
tune such such a good postman should be such a 
fool ! ” 

Jim Cary looked at Alison. He was getting 
into a habit of looking at the girl when he knew she 
would understand things that the others did not, 
and that was pretty often. He liked, too, to see 
the light of laughter quenched for a moment in her 
eyes, and her mouth take those pathetic curves that 
made her look so sweet. 

“ How dreadful it would be for Lizzie if he 
died ! ” she said simply. 

“ I am afraid he will,” replied the doctor. 

“ Do you think I ought to go and see him, 
James?” asked Lavinia, with a troubled look. 

. “ There is no ‘ ought ’ about it,” answered Dr. 
Cary, “ but he might be glad to see you. Women 
are soothing in a sick-room, especially such a 
woman as you are, Lavinia.” 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY i6l 

She smiled gratefully. “ It is very good of you 
to say so, James ! ” 

“ Aunt Vinnie,” said Alison, walking with her 
to the garden gate, “ tell him we will be good to 
Lizzie.” 

“ My dear,” and her aunt’s voice sounded slight- 
ly shocked, “ Benjamin Wedge is very ill, in all 
probability dying, and when people are dying they 
should be thinking of a better world.” 

“ I did not know there was a better world than 
that of love,” said her niece quietly. 

“ I am afraid you are very ignorant, Alison. But 
it is natural you should be on such sad matters as 
these. Still, my dear, as you grow older you should 
try to learn the truth, and not to say what sounds 
even a little irreverent.” 

The girl was silenced, but not convinced. 

“ Aunt Vinnie’s love must be a funny little 
thing,” she thought to herself, as she stood leaning 
over the gate. “ I thought somebody in the Bible 
said that love is stronger than death — but hers is 
hardly as strong as punctuality, for she always 
hurries in from her walks with Dr. Cary to be 
in time for tea or supper. I should have thought 
when she was with him she would have forgot- 
ten that there were such things as tea and sup- 
per.” 

And then the current of the girl’s thoughts was 
changed by a wave of sadness that swept over her at 
the sight of a new postman coming along the road. 
Who does not know the bitter sadness of seeing 


1 62 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

the dear, familiar place filled by a new-comer, and 
the old work taken up by strange hands? 

Lavinia was shocked at the change in Benja- 
min’s appearance. He was well cared for in the cot- 
tage hospital, and was supplied by Dr. Cary with 
everything that skill and kindness could suggest, 
but all availed nothing to stay the life that was 
slipping away. 

“ I am indeed grieved to see you in such a con- 
dition, Wedge,” began Lavinia, her sympathetic 
eyes full of tears. 

“ I am very comfortable, thank you, miss,” said 
Benjamin a little shyly. 

Miss Lavinia looked pained. She was afraid it 
was wrong to feel comfortable when death was in 
sight. 

“ Are you happy in your mind ? ” she asked anx- 
iously. 

The man made a restless movement. 

“ I can’t say as I am, miss,” he answered slowly, 
“ though thank you kindly for inquiring.” 

“ Oh, Benjamin! let me help you,” cried La- 
vinia, in sudden distress, for she believed that in 
his few remaining hours the man had to settle his 
claim on Eternity. “ Is it that you cannot believe? ” 

“ Believe, miss, did you say ? Oh, no, it is not 
that ! I have always been an easy one for believing 
what them as understands have told me. But,” and 
his voice suddenly failed, “ it’s my little lass.” 

Lavinia breathed a sigh of relief. 

“ Is that all?” she exclaimed, almost joyfully; 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 163 

“ never mind about that now. Turn your thoughts 
to better things, Benjamin, for the time is short." 

The sick man looked puzzled. 

“ I can't never turn my thoughts away from her, 
miss," he said simply. 

“ But, Benjamin, it is wrong at such a time," she 
pleaded. 

“ I can't help it, miss. And I ain't afraid as 
God won't understand. Only it breaks my heart to 
leave her," and the big tears rolled down his fur- 
rowed cheeks. 

Lavinia looked helpless, and just then Dr. Cary 
came in. She went to meet him with a troubled 
face. 

“ Oh, James ! " she whispered, “ it is so sad. He 
keeps thinking still of that Lizzie." 

The doctor spoke aloud. He knew better than 
to whisper in a sick-room. 

“ I have come to have a word with him now, 
and we must not have two here. Well, Benjamin," 
sitting down beside the bed, “ can I do anything 
for you ? " 

“ No, thank you, sir." 

“ I think I can," and Jim's voice was very ten- 
der. “ I want to tell you that I will look after Liz- 
zie, and see that she is always cared for." 

The man's face lit up, and his thin hand grasped 
the doctor's. 

“ I can never thank you enough, sir. It's that I 
mind in going. I ain't afraid of death — somehow 
I feel as God'll see me through. He ain't the One 


164 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

to fail us when we’re done — but oh ! sir, my little 
lass. What’ll she do without me ? ” 

“ God will see to her, too, I expect,” said the 
doctor quietly. 

“ It isn’t as if she was a strong one, and could 
look out for herself, sir.” 

“ I know, I know.” 

“ Nor as if she would ever get another chap. 
Why, sir,” and his voice quivered, “ the folks are 
afraid of her. I’m the only one as loves her, and 
she does want me so.” 

“ Shall I fetch her to see you ? ” asked the 
Doctor. 

“ No, sir, thank you. She’d hardly understand 
me being abed and weakly like. And I couldn’t bid 
her good-bye. I reckon God’ll bring her to see 
me next time, and it won’t be to say good-bye 
then.” 

“ Good-night, Benjamin; you are tired now and 
I want you to rest. I will give your love to Lizzie.” 

“ Aye, sir, do.” 

And Benjamin Wedge was so tired that he fell 
asleep, and when he woke he was beyond the re- 
gion of anxious care, and there is no beyond to the 
realm of love. 

“ Does Lizzie understand about it, Dr. Cary ? ” 
asked Alison, whom the doctor had overtaken on 
her way down to the sea. 

He was going to the lighthouse, a good walk at 
low tide on the smooth, hard sands. 

“ I don’t think so. She seemed quite dazed 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 165 

when I went in. Her grandmother had evidently 
been talking to her.” 

“ And what did you say ? ” 

“ I only told her that Benjamin wanted me to 
give her his love. And she looked quite happy and 
said, ‘ There, I knew he was not dead ! ’ and ap- 
pealed to me.” 

“ And of course you told her that he was 
not?” 

“ How could I ? ” And Dr. Cary looked sur- 
prised. “ I hardly knew what to say.” 

“ Oh, how could you be so stupid ? ” cried Ali- 
son reproachfully. 

“ What would you have said ? ” he asked. 

“ Why, I would have told her that he was strong 
and well and happy, only gone away for a little 
while, and that she would go to him one of these 
days.” 

Dr. Cary looked at the girl’s eager, earnest face. 

“ You talk as if you knew all about it,” he said 
slowly. 

“ I do,” answered Alison simply. 

“ Tell me what you know?” And the doctor’s 
voice was very grave. 

“ I have never talked like this to any one since 
Mother went away, but I don’t mind telling you — I 
think you will understand.” 

“ I will try,” he said earnestly. 

“ Mother used to tell me all about things like 
that, because Father was There, you know, and that 
made it her real Home, she said.” 


1 66 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

“ And she believed that she would find him there 
in the old familiar way ? ” 

“ She knew she should,” replied the girl. “ And 
she told me all about the strongness of love, and 
how nothing can break it, not even death, and how 
all the really beautiful things are the lasting ones.” 

“ Tell me more,” begged Jim, as Alison paused 
with a dreamy look in her eyes. 

“ And — I forget exactly how she used to say 
it, because it is so long ago — but that there is no 
real separation between people who love each other 
in the highest way. So, don’t you see, I know that 
Benjamin will still be able to care for Lizzie, and 
I want her to know it, too.” 

“ You must tell her.” 

“ Grannie and Aunt Vinnie would be awfully 
shocked if they heard me talk like this. They do 
not understand.” 

“ I am afraid not,” and the doctor looked rather 
sad. 

“ But Mother said it made all the difference in 
understanding about things when you want them, 
so I think perhaps that if Grannie was homesick for 
Heaven as Mother used to be, she would know 
more about it. I wouldn’t be paid to go to the 
heaven she and Aunt Vinnie believe in. And I 
don’t think they would either, if it were a matter 
of choice.” 

“ Oh, but then that is natural enough ! ” inter- 
polated her companion. “ Nobody would as a mat- 
ter of choice.” 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


167 


“ You wouldn’t say that if you had seen Moth- 
er’s face when she knew she was going,” replied 
Alison softly. 

“ I am so sorry for you, little one,” Dr. Cary said 
suddenly, with a great tenderness in his voice. “ I 
had hardly realised your loss before.” 

Alison’s eyes filled with tears. 

“ It hurts awfully still sometimes,” she said 
tremulously, “ but the torn pain does not go on all 
the time now as it used. It was before I went to 
school, long ago. And I know I am not really 
motherless. But,” with a sudden change of tone, 
“ let’s talk about Pixie,” glancing towards the doc- 
tor’s little dog. 

And Jim Cary understood, and talked of many 
surface things, till Alison’s eyes were dry and even 
merry again. But after she had turned back, and 
he was alone on the shore, his thoughts reverted 
to what she had told him. A truly different faith 
to any that he had heard of before, for the old 
evangelical school was the one in which he had been 
brought up, — but a beautiful and helpful faith all 
the same — and one that came with special force to 
Jim Cary just then, as he pondered over the appar- 
ent hardship of Benjamin’s love being lost to poor 
Lizzie. 

“ Only she seemed so sure it was not lost,” he 
said to himself. “ Perhaps she knows better than I 
‘ do after all.” 

» “ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Lavinia a few weeks after 

the postman’s death, “ I have been trying to have 


1 68 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

a little talk with Lizzie Worsley, but it is quite 
hopeless/' 

“ What is ? ” asked her mother, pouring out a 
cup of tea. 

“ To get Lizzie to understand. She is much 
worse — isn't it sad ? " 

“ I don't think her getting worse is a bit sad," 
said Alison. “ Dr. Cary was telling me that the 
melancholy state and dreadful fits of passion have 
quite gone away — I suppose it was the shock of 
Benjamin's death — and that now she is always 
quite gentle and happy in a childish kind of 
way." 

“ And much good that is to Mrs. Worsley," ex- 
claimed the old lady. 

“ It is much better for Lizzie any way," persisted 
her granddaughter, “ for she has never really under- 
stood her sorrow." 

“ The duty of young people is to their elders, my 
dear. You seem to forget that." 

“ I don't, Grannie, but I am so sorry for Liz- 
zie!" 

“ I told her," continued Lavinia, “ that we must 
be resigned to all our troubles, and then — oh, it was 
too dreadful ! " 

“ What happened ? " Alison wanted to know. 

“ Why, she actually laughed and said she had 
no troubles. The girl must be quite mad." 

“ Then she ought to be shut up," ejaculated Mrs. 
Garland. 

“ I was quite afraid of her," said Lavinia. “ Mrs. 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


169 


Worsley was out and it made me so nervous being 
alone with her in the house.” 

“ But, Aunt Vinnie,” began Alison, and then 
she stopped. It was no use trying to explain. 

“ What do you want, my dear? ” asked her aunt. 

“ Some more cake, please.” And Alison fin- 
ished her tea in silence. Directly afterwards she 
went down to the village, and called at the Worsleys’ 
cottage. 

“ Lizzie ain’t in,” the old woman explained. 
“ Her’s gone out on one of her daft errands a-look- 
ing out for Benjamin.” 

“ I will find her,” said Alison hurriedly, and then 
she started towards the gate where she knew the 
strange, oddly-matched lovers were in the habit of 
meeting. 

A chill wind was blowing up from the sea, bring- 
ing down the dying leaves, and moaning softly 
through the woods as it told them that summer 
was over. There might almost come a touch of 
frost with the dawn, for down in the valley a white 
mist lay along the river’s bed, and everywhere the 
grass was damp and heavy with a dew that the au- 
tumn sun failed each day to dry up. Alison found 
the girl singing a little song to herself as she stood 
watching at the gate. 

“ He’s late to-night, miss,” she stopped to say 
as Alison came up. 

“ Yes, dear,” and Alison took her hand. She 
could not say anything more just then, owing to the 
big lump in her throat. 


170 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

“ Maybe something's hindered him," explained 
Lizzie, after a few minutes, “ or he’s wanted some- 
where else ? ’’ And she peered anxiously into the 
gathering twilight. 

“ That’s it ! ’’ said Alison quickly ; “ he is wanted 
somewhere else just now.’’ 

“ But he’ll come to-morrow, miss. He promised 
me as he would last time.’’ 

“ Benjamin will keep his promise,’’ Alison as- 
sured her. 

“ Ay, that he will, miss.’’ And the girl laughed 
a happy little laugh. 

“ Do you know, miss,’’ she confided in Alison a 
few minutes later, “ I forget what hating is like. 
Somehow there is nobody in the whole world now, 
so as there’s nobody left to hate.’’ 

“ Poor dear ! ’’ and Alison’s eyes filled with 
tears. 

“ Why are you crying?’’ asked Lizzie, with a 
puzzled look. “ Ben said as it didn’t matter about 
t’other folks, not if they all died, if I kept alive! 
and it has happened like that, you see, miss. So it 
is all right.’’ 

“ And are you quite happy now ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, miss ! O’ course I be. He loves me,’’ 
and the girl lifted her pathetic, vacant face with a 
proud gesture. “ And when any one loves you, 
and is one as is always taking care of you, you 
can’t help but be happy,’’ and she smiled a far- 
away smile. 

“ He loves her, and is always taking care of 


THE POSTMAN’S STORY 


171 

her,” repeated Alison softly, and a warm thought 
fell into her heart. 

“ He said he would, miss,” continued Lizzie con- 
fidently ; “ and so I’m telling you true.” 

“ Yes, dear,” answered Alison earnestly. “ I 
know you are.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 

The winter passed uneventfully by, bringing 
with it so little frost and cold that Alison felt it was 
hardly worth calling winter at all. There was al- 
ways plenty for her to do and be interested in, even 
in that small world on the shore of the far west 
country. For the amount of interest there is in life 
depends more on the strength of people’s individu- 
ality than on their circumstances and surroundings. 
And Alison was so full of high spirits and health 
and the vividness of living that she never found a 
dull moment. Moreover, her passion for the coun- 
try and the sea brought a special delight into every 
day’s life there, and she grew to love not only every 
stick and stone of the place, but every varying mood 
of wind and weather. Her first year at Barnscombe 
had been a* very happy one, and she had learned to 
think of it as her home, with all that is implied of 
peace and happiness in the word. To her grand- 
mother she was dutiful on the whole, and the old 
lady secretly gloried in the flashes of spirit which 
reminded her so much of her favourite daughter. 
To Lavinia, Alison was a perfect wonder as well 


172 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


173 


as a beloved niece ; but the young girl's coming had 
not made her aunt any younger. Indeed, Lavinia 
found by the contrast that she had indeed let slip all 
the brightness and gladness of heart and mind, 
which is the heritage of those whom the gods love, 
who are young until they die, whenever that may be. 
And the more staid and quiet walks of feeling suited 
Lavinia best. She was more at home as the maiden- 
aunt than as the only daughter, and the responsibil- 
ity of continually pleasing her mother and Jim Cary 
she was glad to give over to Alison's keeping. 
What she should talk about to the latter had been 
a burden she had daily borne; but with Alison's 
coming that care was done away with, and Lavinia 
could enjoy herself in silence and in peace. To Jim, 
Alison was an absorbing interest and untiring 
amusement. He learned to play upon her moods 
with the delight with which a musician settles to the 
keyboard of a beautiful organ, and to train her 
young impatience as a man delights to break in 
some wayward horse. And she, true to her sex, 
was fascinated in finding her master, and therefore 
spent most of her time in trying to prove to him 
that he was nothing of the kind. 

The school treat at Barnscombe was usually fixed 
for the second week in May, and was pitched upon 
the very day that Alison had set apart to spend with 
the Merrivales, who were just calling at Barns- 
combe for a day on their way to London for the 
season. There had been great excitement at the 
Court, and in the village, at the news of Petronel's 


174 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


engagement to one Lord Conway, which had taken 
place at Cannes, where they had spent most of the 
winter. Alison was very eager to hear all about 
this from Petronel, and she really could not see why 
she need give up her one chance of doing so for the 
sake of the Barnscombe school treat. But Mrs. 
Garland thought otherwise — no royal fete in her 
opinion being on a level with the great parochial 
entertainments of her native village — and she firmly 
decided that Alison should be present. So there was 
every prospect of a civil war. 

“ Alison,” called the old lady, as she heard her 
granddaughter in the hall, “ here is a note for you. 
The Rector left it himself.” 

“ How tiresome ! ” said Alison captiously, as she 
tore open the envelope. 

“ I can conjecture its contents,” continued her 
grandmother, “ as your aunt has received a similar 
invitation ; but it seems to me a waste of paper and 
envelope to send you a separate one. The people of 
the present day are so extravagant.” 

Alison read the note, then threw it into the 
waste-paper basket. 

“ It is only to ask me to that stupid school treat. 
But I can’t go.” 

Mrs. Garland looked over the top of her specta- 
cles, which indicated a form of serious displeasure. 

“ What are you thinking about, Alison ? Of 
course you will go with your aunt ! She has already 
written her acceptance.” 

“ I tell you I am not going,” replied her grand- 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


*75 


daughter defiantly. “ I hate school treats. I gave 
my half-crown towards the expenses, but I must 
have that day to spend with Petronel. It is the only 
one she has at the Court, and I don’t see why I need 
give it up for the sake of joining in a lot of nasty, 
hot games with children, whose sport I shall only 
spoil.” 

“ My dear, my dear ! ” interrupted her grand- 
mother, with much sternness expressed in the 
epithet. “ I will not allow you to speak like that. 
You will go to the school treat because it is your 
duty, if for nothing more charitable in purpose.” 

Now this was a mistake on the part of Mrs. 
Garland, for the question of duty was not really in- 
volved, and Alison felt the injustice of the claim. 
Of course, she had not really any objection to play- 
ing even the roughest games with the village chil- 
dren, but she had made up her mind to go to the 
Court on that day, and she was not going to be 
bullied into giving it up when there was no real 
reason. Had her grandmother been laid up, or 
Lavinia wanting her for any special purpose, she 
would have thrown over Petronel without a 
thought; but she was fighting against the Rector’s 
influence on Mrs. Garland, as well as her grand- 
mother’s old-fashioned views that the interests of 
young people should always be subservient to the 
whims of their elders, and that they have no right 
to make any plans of their own unless subject to 
the claims of every one who is older than them- 
selves, who might possibly want them. 


176 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ They are not going to turn me into a Lavinia," 
said Alison petulantly to herself one day, when 
Mrs. Garland and the Rector had been express- 
ing themselves to this effect. “ I know what my 
duty is, and I will do it, or else stand up and take 
the consequences like a man; but I will not ask 
Grannie's leave every time I want to dip my pen in 
the ink or take another piece of bread-and-butter 
as Aunt Vinnie does." 

So, in reply to the old lady's mandate, she tossed 
her head and replied : 

“ I cannot go, Grannie. I am sorry if it vexes 
you, but I don't see the slightest reason why I 
should throw over the Merrivales for this." 

“ Highty-tighty ! " exclaimed Mrs. Garland. 
“ In my young days girls did as their elders wished, 
and never dreamed of speaking in so impertinent 
a manner. I insist upon your sitting down at the 
writing-table this very minute and writing a note 
saying that you will be v^ry pleased to go." 

Alison laughed scornfully, and walked out of the 
room. The door closed behind her a little more 
vigorously than usual. 

“ Oh ! Lavinia," began Mrs. Garland, when her 
daughter came in, “ I am seriously displeased with 
Alison. She has behaved in a most defiant and im- 
pertinent manner, and refuses to go with you to 
the school treat. I cannot imagine what has made 
her so insubordinate in the matter." 

Lavinia sighed. 

“ She wanted so much to see Petronel and have 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


177 


a talk about the engagement, and that is the only 
day she can, you know. I expect that is her reason, 
for Alison is usually so good-natured.” 

“ It is all a pack of rubbish about wanting to 
talk over the engagement ! ” snapped her mother, 
“ and I will not allow such self-willed behaviour in 
so young a girl. She ought to feel that it is her 
duty to be at the school treat, and be glad 
to go.” 

Lavinia looked frightened. Her mother irate 
was to her the most alarming thing in the world, and 
she quite trembled for her niece. 

“ It is not a bit like Alison to be troublesome,” 
she said timidly. 

“ It is very like Alison with Satan on her back,” 
continued Mrs. Garland, “ and I will not have such 
goings on, I can tell you.” 

If Mrs. Garland could prevent that attitude on 
the part of Satan she was indeed a powerful agent 
for good in this working-day world. 

A bright thought suddenly wiped the look of 
care from Lavinia’s brow. 

“ Do not trouble yourself, Mother. James will 
be in directly — I saw him in the village — and he 
will be able to make it all right with Alison.” 

“ That is a good idea,” answered Mrs. Garland, 
“ for really that girl is getting more than I can 
manage. So different from you, and worse even 
than her mother — but then you had great advan- 
tages. I whipped you both from eighteen-months 
old, while Alison has, I dare say, never been prop- 


173 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


erly whipped in her life. And spare the rod — you 
know the result, Lavinia ! ” 

But that was exactly what Lavinia did not know, 
except by hearsay. 

“ I do indeed, Mother. Poor Alison ! ” 

“ Ah ! here is James. He can be very severe at 
times. I will consult him about her.” 

Mrs. Garland gave the doctor a full account of 
her granddaughter's misdoings, with much shaking 
of the head and many dissertations on the depravity 
of the rising generation. 

Jim Cary looked very grave. 

“ Send her down to me, Mrs. Garland,” he said 
sternly. “ And don't you trouble any more about 
it. I will see that she writes a proper note of ac- 
ceptance and goes to the school treat.” 

“ James is a great comfort,” exclaimed the old 
lady when Dr. Cary had gone. “ I am pleased he 
took such a sensible view of the matter. I shall send 
Alison to him directly she comes in. She needs a 
man to scold her sufficiently severely.” And Mrs. 
Garland's knitting-pins clicked again with righteous 
indignation. 

“ But it will be dreadful for the poor child,” said 
Lavinia sympathetically. “ I cannot imagine a 
more terrible punishment than to be scolded by 
James.” He had never scolded her in his life. 

“ If girls will be disobedient, they deserve a ter- 
rible punishment,” continued the old lady. 

“ I do tremble though for Alison,” repeated 
Lavinia. “ I am quite sorry it is his evening 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


179 

for coming here to supper — it will make me so 
nervous.” 

“ Do not be foolish, Lavinia,” said her mother 
sternly. She was herself regretting that she would 
not be present at the humiliation of her grand- 
daughter. 

A few minutes afterwards Alison was heard 
whistling in the garden. 

“ A most unladylike habit that/’ observed Mrs. 
Garland, “ but fortunate perhaps in this respect that 
it indicates her whereabouts. Lavinia, go and fetch 
her in. ,, 

“ Oh, Alison ! ” cried her aunt as she opened the 
door, “ your grandmother wants you — and I am so 
sorry you have not been behaving well to-day, dear.” 

“ It’s nothing,” answered Alison, with a laugh at 
her aunt's grave face, “ only Grannie was waxy 
because I am not going to the school treat.” 

“ Your grandmother is seriously angry, my dear, 
and you will have to go, I am afraid. But do not 
keep her waiting. Run in now.” 

“ All right,” said her niece cheerfully, “ only 
don't you bother, dear. I can stand the racket.” 

Lavinia smiled at this, one of Jim's familiar 
phrases. 

“ But she little knows what it is, poor child ! ” 
she sighed. “ How dreadful it will be for her ! ” 

A few minutes later Alison was on her way to 
Dr. Cary's. She was half amused and half perplexed 
by her grandmother's dismissal, and was impatient 
to know what Dr. Cary would say to her. Like 


i8o 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


most women, she was pleasantly, if half fearfully, 
excited at the thought of a strong man’s being 
angry with her. 

“ And of course he won’t be really,” she said to 
herself, as she tapped at his study window. “ Gran- 
nie said you wanted me,” began the girl, looking 
up through her eyelashes at the doctor. 

“ I do want you,” answered Jim. 

And Alison saw his expression change, and a 
look sweep across his face she did not understand. 

“ And why, please ? ” she continued tentatively. 

Dr. Cary’s face grew stern. 

“ Because I hear you are a very naughty girl, 
and deserve to be put in the corner.” 

Alison tossed her head. 

, “ I should like to see the person who could put 
me there,” she said, a challenge in her tone. 

“ That wish of yours will soon be gratified,” con- 
tinued Jim, with a sudden inspiration, “ for I am 
going to put you there while I talk to you.” 

“ That is nonsense ! ” exclaimed Alison impa- 
tiently, “ and it is silly to say things like that.” 

“ That is not a proper way of speaking when you 
are in disgrace,” said the doctor. 

“ Disgrace, indeed ! ” and Alison gave a little 
stamp. “ I don’t know what you mean.” 

“ Then I will tell you. Go and stand over there 
with your face to the wall, and listen to me.” 

“ I sha’n’t ! ” cried the girl, with a short laugh. 

“ Then I must make you,” added Jim, advancing 
a step towards her. 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 1 8 1 

Alison breathed rather quickly, and said in a 
different tone : 

“ And, besides, it is rude to turn your back on 
people who are talking to you.” 

“ That remark is distinctly impertinent,” ob- 
served Dr. Cary, “ and that is a thing I never allow/’ 

“ Oh ! don’t you ? ” muttered the girl. 

“ What did you say ? ” 

“ I only suggested that I had been mistaken,” 
she replied sweetly. 

“ Well, do you hear me? Go over there on to 
that mat, which furnishes my only vacant corner. 
And don’t let me have to tell you again.” 

Alison’s face took a mutinous mould, and she 
stood quite still, looking defiantly out of the win- 
dow. 

The doctor laid his hand on her shoulder. Such 
a strong, capable hand. It made the girl feel as if 
she were a little child again, and that just the pres- 
sure of his fingers could make her go any way. 

“ You are horrid, and a brute, and I hate you,” 
she panted, as he guided her across the room ; but 
she stood on the mat with a restless, chafing move- 
ment, as if she were indeed tied there with cords that 
she could not break. 

“ What does your grandmother complain of 
about you? ” Jim asked, smiling to himself now she 
could not see him. 

“ Didn’t she tell you ? ” in muffled tones. 

“ Answer my question, please,” sternly. 

“ That I am the most insubordinate and imperti- 


1 82 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

nent girl she has ever had anything to do with,” 
repeated Alison meekly. 

“ And that is a nice character to have earned ! 
Aren’t you ashamed of it ? ” 

“ She hasn’t had much experience,” said the girl 
in almost a whisper. 

Jim Cary put his hand across his mouth. 

“ Do you never do what you are told ? ” he asked 
again. 

“ I thought I was doing something now,” she 
answered softly. 

“ So you are. And don’t you feel a little bit 
ashamed? That is the ultimate purpose of stand- 
ing in a corner.” 

“ Don’t ! ” said Alison quickly. “ I hate it, if 
that’s what you mean.” 

“ Most people hate punishment. But do you 
feel sufficiently subdued to be obedient for, to say 
the least, the remainder of the day ? ” 

“ It seems as if I should have to be obedient to 
you,” said the girl. “ And, please, mayn’t I come 
out now ? ” 

“ You may, if you are prepared to sit down and 
write a note accepting the invitation to the school 
treat.” 

“ I won’t do that ! ” cried Alison. “ You know 
I won’t ! ” 

“ Now, don’t begin tossing your head again,” 
said Jim sternly — but his eyes were not stern as he 
looked at the girl’s proud, impatient gesture. They 
were full of admiration and tenderness. Hence the 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT ^3 

wisdom of Alison's being made to stand with her 
face to the wall. “ You will have to stay there until 
you do,” he added; and Alison knew that when 
he spoke like that he always meant what he said. 

“ Then I’ll stay for ever,” she answered petu- 
lantly. “ I don't care ! ” 

Jim Cary sat down, and wished that she might 
be long in yielding. The room seemed so sunny, 
and the game, half play and half earnest, which 
they were playing was so full of an indescribable 
charm to him. Perhaps to Alison also it was not 
without fascination. There was a long silence, 
broken only by the rustle of spring which floated 
through the open window, and the catch of the girl's 
quick breath, as she stood trying to strengthen her 
spirit of defiance. She was not going to give in — 
nothing would induce her. And this stupid non- 
sense about a corner would have to come to an end. 
She would not stay there a minute longer, and be 
made a fool of, and she would never, never write that 
letter. How quiet the doctor seemed, and how stern 
his voice had sounded the last time he spoke. She 
wondered if he were really getting angry, or whether 
it was only play after all. Of course it was play 
— how could it be anything else? — and yet what 
made her keep in such a ridiculous position and 
feel really a bit frightened underneath? She would 
have to go to the school treat after all ; there seemed 
no help for it. And she would not really mind much 
about not seeing Petronel, only it was so irritating 
of her grandmother to upset the plan for no proper 


1 84 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

reason. Still it seemed no use making a point of 
it. She wished Dr. Cary would speak. Then she 
looked round half-timidly, and saw he was watching 
her, and there was something in his look that made 
a sudden lump come in her throat and her eyes fill 
with tears. He held out his hand. 

“ Come, little one,” he said tenderly. 

“ Til write the letter if you want me to,” and 
there was a quiver in the girl’s voice. 

“ There, there! It’s all right!” he answered 
quickly. “ I will help you.” 

“ Will you tell me how to spell ‘invitation’?” 
she asked, with rather a tearful smile. 

“ Yes, and don’t forget there are two c’s in ac- 
cept,” he answered, as he put the pen into her hand. 

“ And you won’t be angry with me any more ? ” 
said Alison, looking up as she closed the letter. 

“ Never any more,” he promised. “ Don’t look 
so sad, little one. It was only a play after all.” 

“ I think it was somehow a bit more than play,” 
said the girl wistfully; and Jim did not contradict 
her. 

“ Anyway it is all over now,” he exclaimed 
cheerfully; but it was a great effort to pull himself 
together and speak thus. The mental atmosphere 
was so rare and sweet and exotic that he longed to 
linger in it. 

Alison jumped up, and a twinkle was lighted in 
her eyes. 

“ Please, sir, hadn’t you better come with me 
to post this letter ? ” 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 185 

“ Of course I must. And I shall also feel it my 
duty to come with you to the school treat, to see 
that you are neither insubordinate nor impertinent 
there.” 

Alison laughed. 

“ How jolly it will be ! I am so glad you will be 
there! I say,” she added, as they walked across 
the field together, “ were you really angry that I 
wanted to go to the Court that day ? ” 

Jim Cary smiled. 

“ No, I was not really angry with you for that.” 

“ Were you really angry with me for being de- 
fiant?” 

“ No, I was not really angry about that.” 

“ For impertinence? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Then for what?” 

“ I was not really angry with you at all, little 
one.” 

“ I half thought you were, once or twice,” said 
Alison. 

“ Discipline demanded my displeasure, you see.” 

“ And — and it was rather nice, now it is all over, 
wasn’t it ? ” 

“ It was ! ” answered the doctor so emphatically 
that Alison laughed. 

“ You are a brute to talk like that,” she said, 
standing still. 

“ Impertinence again ! ” observed the doctor, 
“ and impertinence must always be punished.” 

“ No, no! ” cried the girl. “ I didn’t mean that, 
13 


1 86 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

I beg your pardon. You’ll forgive me just this once, 
won’t you ? ” 

“ Well, only this once. So take care.” 

They walked along for a little in silence — that 
dear silence which tells of perfect understanding; 
and then Alison said meditatively : 

“ Isn’t it funny — that I never liked you so much 
as I do to-day ? ” 

“ It is indeed,” answered Jim ; but he did not 
look as if he thought it exactly funny. 

“ And I never had such a nice feeling myself 
before somehow,” continued the girl. “ I feel so 
gentle and good and taken care of. Do you know 
what I mean ? ” 

“ Yes, I think so. And more than you mean, 
too,” he added, half to himself. 

“ And as if I were very little — so little that I 
keep pulling your sleeve and running along to keep 
up with you.” 

“ You really are a little bit of a thing, you 
know.” 

“ Oh, I am not ! ” she stated emphatically. “ I 
am as tall as you are.” 

Jim Cary threw back his head and laughed. 

“ Well, at least nearly as tall,” she argued ; “ only 
about three or four inches shorter, and that is quite 
as tall for a woman.” 

“ Quite,” observed the doctor gravely ; “ rather 
taller in fact.” 

“ But tell me,” she continued, “ do you feel any- 
thing on your sleeve ? ” 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 187 

“ I think I do.” And Jim Cary’s voice was very 
tender. 

“ Let’s talk about it,” said Alison, who was en- 
joying herself very much. “ Did 1 look at all 
frightened ? ” 

“ Yes, a little.” 

“ But of course I was not really.” 

“ Of course not. Appearances are very decep- 
tive ; so is a quick, catching breath.” 

“ Perhaps I was, just a trifle ; but only a trifle,” 
and Alison looked doubtful. 

“ Foolish little thing! ” 

“ You made me, so you shouldn’t blame me 
for it.” 

“ I am not blaming you, you know. Here we 
are at the post. Let me drop it in.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said the girl, smiling ; “ so I 
haven’t posted it after all.” 

“ I did not tell you to post it — so that’s all 
right.” 

“ And you’ve quite forgiven me ? ” Alison asked 
once more as they turned up the village street. 
“ You are sure? ” 

“ Perfectly sure. And you will be good now ? ” 

“ With you,” she answered simply. 

As they came in sight of the Garlands’ house 
Alison literally pulled the doctor’s sleeve. 

“ Please don’t tell them about the corner,” she 
pleaded softly. 

“ Of course not,” Jim answered quickly. He 
would have hated Lavinia and her mother to have 


1 88 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

known about that little scene, which to him was so 
full of such deep and tender feeling. They could 
never, either of them, have understood it. And he 
felt a sudden sinking of the heart at the realisation 
of how incapable Lavinia was of understanding all 
the strong and subtle forces which were making 
themselves felt so vividly in his life. He tried for 
a moment to imagine playing that afternoon’s game 
with Lavinia, and the impossibility of the idea hurt 
as well as amused him. 

“ But it does not mean that Lavinia is really 
slow to understand,” he argued to himself. “ No- 
body in the wide world would understand the ex- 
quisite charm of such a farce — except Alison,” he 
added mentally. 

Mrs. Garland was extremely pleased at the ver- 
sion she received of the incident. 

“ I have made this unruly granddaughter of 
yours obey your behest,” Jim told her. “ And she 
has written the letter you wished.” 

“ I am thankful to hear it,” said the old lady 
fervently. “ You have a great gift in correction* 
James. I noticed it first when you castigated the 
gardener’s boy for maltreating a cat.” 

“ If ever you have any more trouble with Alison, 
send her to me,” continued Dr. Cary. 

“ If ever ! ” repeated Mrs. Garland. “ That is 
like a man, thinking a sin is uprooted all at once, 
and a girl, especially such a one as ours, reformed 
by one chastisement.” 

* I shall be glad to help you as often as she 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 189 

should need it,” said Jim, and truth rang in his 
tones. 

When Alison came in, Lavinia regarded her with 
sympathetic curiosity. 

“ But I will not say a word to her,” thought the 
kind soul ; “ it would be so painful to remind her 
of that which she has suffered.” 

This was true kindness on Lavinia’s part, as she 
was longing to know all that had passed, only in 
a subdued and reverent way as became so sad an 
occasion. 

The girl sat down on a small stool on one side 
of the fireplace, and began to knit in silence. Mrs. 
Garland looked knowingly at Lavinia to indicate 
the reform of Alison, but deemed it more suitable 
to take no notice of the culprit. Jim Cary also 
thought it more suitable to take no notice of the 
culprit, but from a different reason. Occasionally 
she looked up at him, and once, when he made a 
small joke, she caught his eye and smiled. 

“ It was very nice of Alison to bear no malice,” 
Lavinia thought. 

After rather a quiet half-hour at the Old House 
Alison laid down her knitting. 

“ Grannie,” she said gently, “ I am going to 
the school treat, after all. I suppose Dr. Cary has 
told you.” 

“ He has, my dear,” said the old lady. There 
was such a sweet childlike look about Alison that 
nobody could be cross with her for long. “ I am 
very pleased, and we will say no more about it.” 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


I90 


“ But, Grannie, I am sorry I was — insubordi- 
nate and impertinent/' 

Lavinia could not think how her niece could 
thus speak up before herself and the doctor — she 
herself flushed crimson as she glanced at Jim Cary, 
who, to her great surprise, was smiling. 

“ He ought not to do that," she thought. “ It 
it not kind of him to look so amused when Alison is 
passing through such a humiliation." 

“ My dear," observed her grandmother, “ there 
is nothing like a stern man for bringing disobedient 
folk to their senses. Womenkind are not strong 
enough for the job. I would have managed you my- 
self if I had been younger, and it was with much pain 
that I was compelled to appeal to Dr. Cary. Never- 
theless I am very grateful to him as I mark your 
changed demeanour." 

“ So am I, Grannie." Alison looked up again 
at Jim. And he understood. 

“ We will now change the subject," continued 
the old lady graciously, “ and perhaps it would be 
a pleasant prelude if Lavinia were to sing us one of 
her songs." 

“ Yes, do, Lavinia," added Jim. 

So Lavinia sang in her sweet, thin voice a song 
of lovers of long ago, and she thought of Jim as 
she sang, and the thought put a little depth into 
her weak voice, and fired a new spark in her pale 
blue eyes. And Jim forgot the singer in listening 
to the old words, which are always new in the talk 
of lovers ; they drew his gaze to the bent brown head 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


I 9 I 

of the girl on the footstool, and his heart went with 
it ; till, with a start, he came back to thank Lavinia 
for her singing. 

“ Your coat sleeve is quite pulled out of shape,” 
remarked Alison as they went in to supper. 

“ I do not notice to what you are alluding, dear,” 
broke in Lavinia. 

“ It is not good manners to make personal re- 
marks,” said Mrs. Garland reprovingly ; “ I am sur- 
prised at you both.” 

“ I thought Dr. Cary might like to know about 
his sleeve,” answered Alison meekly. 

“ Thank you,” replied Jim. “ I do like to know 
about it.” 

“ But I cannot see what is wrong with it,” per- 
sisted Lavinia, whose curiosity for a moment out- 
weighed the maternal influence. 

“ There is nothing wrong with it,” explained the 
doctor; “.only it has been pulled a little.” 

“ A good deal, I should have thought,” said 
Alison. 

The day of the school treat was a beautiful one — • 
a fresh breeze from the southwest blew a succes- 
sion of white fleecy clouds across the sky, and pre- 
vented the atmosphere from settling down into that 
of an oppressively warm spring day. The sea 
seemed to brim over as it lay full and deep right out 
to the horizon line, and the lace-like pattern of 
breakers fringed the golden shore. The beauty of 
it all played on Alison’s sensitive soul — all beauty 
in Nature appealed to her so strongly — and as she 


192 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


and Lavinia walked across the sand-hills, early in 
the afternoon, the girl could not imagine how her 
aunt could be thinking of such things as cake and 
bread-and-butter, with such a view all round them. 
But she was, as her conversation showed. 

“ I do hope Mrs. Benbow has made the plum- 
cake wholesome," observed Lavinia, with an anx- 
ious look; “the children will be sure to eat such 
quantities/' 

“What does it matter?" answered Alison, 
rather impatiently. “ As if the Barnscombe children 
could not eat anything." 

“ And the bread, too," mused her aunt ; “ that 
ought not to be too new." 

“ Oh, look ! " cried Alison, “ at the patches of 
sunlight on those far hills. What an exquisite day 
it is ! " 

“ I am glad it is fine for the school treat." 

“ But it is much more than just fine," said her 
niece ; “ it is so beautiful altogether. The colouring 
of Devonshire is marvellous." 

“ I wish those clouds would not obscure the 
sun," continued Lavinia anxiously ; “ they may in- 
dicate a shower." 

“ Why, it is the clouds that give the shade and 
make it all so much lovelier ; can't you see it, Aunt 
Vinnie ? " 

“ Oh, yes, my dear ! It is a sweet view ; but, you 
see, I am more used to it than you are." 

“ Then that ought to make you love it all the 
more. I love Devonshire a thousand times better 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


193 


than when I came here — I am getting to know all 
her moods. But even her tempers, when the west 
wind roars and the squalls break on the shore, are 
attractive. There is none of the bleak east wind 
you get in the north, nor the bitter, cruel cuts the 
cold gives you up there.” 

“ I declare there is Johnny Gregson running up 
the road. I do hope nothing is wrong with the 
buns. The carrier was to bring them out in his cart 
first, and then go for the baskets of bread-and-but- 
ter, which we cut this morning.” 

“ Dr. Cary would not let me cut any,” said Ali- 
son ; “ I told him I could. But he said I should 
cut my fingers, foolish man ! ” 

“ My love, do not speak so of James. I am 
sure his prohibition was dictated by kindness.” 

“ Don't you think the weather is like different 
people's characters ? ” the girl continued, reverting 
to her former subject. “ Some are like fresh bois- 
terous days, and some have a tinge of frost in the 
air. Petronel is rather that kind, don't you think? 
Beautiful pale sunshine that ought to be warm, but 
isn't half strong enough to warm anybody. And 
Lady Merrivale is like a very fitful, rather stuffy 
April day, with oppressive hot gleams and tiresome 
little showers. You are like a very still warm day, 
Aunt Vinnie.” 

“ I really cannot think of such fairy-tale ideas 
just now,” exclaimed Lavinia, hurrying along with 
a sudden impetus. “ There is the man bringing the 
trestles for the table. There is to be one table for 


194 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

the tea-urns to stand on and for the gentry to 
sit at” 

“ What rubbish ; and just like the rector's red- 
tapeism ! As if the gentry, as you call them, could 
not sit on the sand-hills.” 

“ My dear Alison, how can you think of such a 
thing? James is coming, and he would not like to 
sit on the sand.” 

“ Well, he could stand then. Besides, men al- 
ways have to stand because of handing things.” 

“ Make haste, Alison,” cried her aunt ; “ he is 
putting the table in the wrong place.” 

Alison wondered how there could be a wrong 
place on that wide stretch of sand, but she forgot 
everything connected with the school treat the next 
minute, when the sun came out again and lit up the 
whole landscape in his golden light. The girl's 
heart beat quicker with the exultation of such a 
sight, and her lips parted to drink in the pure air 
which blew from over the sea. She was perfectly 
happy for the moment in her passionate love of Na- 
ture, and the chords it struck in her whole being. 
She stood still, absorbed with the joy of it all, and 
did not see Jim Cary drive down the lane on her 
right — nor the big waggons laden with school chil- 
dren which were coming from the village. 

Lavinia also was perfectly happy, laying the 
table with dainty care, and putting little bunches 
of flowers beside the plates. She saw the doctor 
coming and gave him a gentle welcome. 

“ Doesn’t it look lovely ? ” she asked eagerly. 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


195 


“ Simply glorious,” replied Jim, sweeping the 
whole view with his admiring gaze, and taking off 
his hat, as if in the presence of such beauty he in- 
stinctively felt he had entered into the Temple of 
the Lord. 

“ I mean the table, James,” corrected Lavinia, 
smoothing the cloth once more with almost loving 
fingers, and putting a sprig of hawthorn on the dish 
of cake. 

He looked down and said, rather sadly : 

“ Oh, yes! You always make things look nice 
and pretty, Lavinia.” 

Her pale cheeks flushed with pleasure. She did 
not know that there was any higher praise than that 
which he had given her, and so was content. 

“ Do go and fetch Alison,” she begged him. 
“ Here are the children, and she is staying looking 
at the view from the sand-hills. I never knew such 
a girl in my life for views and out-of-door life and 
such things.” 

“ I think there must be a gipsy strain in her 
blood,” suggested the doctor. 

“ Not on our side,” replied Lavinia thoughtfully. 

“ I meant on the Royses’,” he explained, with a 
twinkle in his eye. 

“ Possibly. They were chiefly soldiers, though ; 
I never heard of any gipsies. But I wish she would 
come now and help. She really ought to be more 
thoughtful.” 

“ Or less,” added Jim, as he turned to go after 
her. 



196 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

Half-way he stood for a moment and glanced 
from the picture of Alison, now coming to meet 
him with a springy step, to that of Lavinia still 
hovering over the tea-table. The latter wore a 
clinging, lilac gown, of some soft material which 
hung in graceful folds, and a shady hat wreathed 
with roses. The distance between them gave back 
Lavinia quite ten years, and the picture of her 
pleased Jim Cary's eye. It looked as if the old days 
had come back again, and he smiled for a moment. 
Then, as he turned round, he felt that the old days 
could never come back again, but he smiled again, 
for the new ones were infinitely better and dearer. 
Devonshire must have been a dull and empty county 
then — he felt now it must have been, though he had 
not known it at the time. Alison wore a blue serge 
coat and skirt and a sailor hat. In a boyish way 
she ran up to him. 

“ Please, sir," she began, “ I am going to be- 
have very well this afternoon. It made me feel as 
if I should when I saw you coming." 

“ You are afraid of my scolding you again." 

“ I am not afraid of anything or anybody ! " she 
replied, with a toss of her head. 

“Oh, no! Not out here on the sand-hills. I 
know all about it." 

“ I really am not afraid of you when you look 
nice as you do now; but perhaps I am just a very 
little when you look " 

“ Well, what?" 

“Nicer!" she added, with a little laugh; and 


CONCERNING A SCHOOL TREAT 


I 9 7 


then, “ You really do look awfully nice and master- 
ful and big and strong when you are angry — but you 
have a dreadful temper. You should not give way 
to it so much — it is very wrong.” 

“ I shall shake you in a minute, and then you 
will be afraid on the sand-hills,” said Jim, smiling. 

“ Fie, fie, Dr. Cary ! ” remonstrated Alison ; 
“ you forget we are at a school treat, and must be- 
have as examples.” 

“ That is exactly what I was contemplating — to 
make an example of you.” 

“ How can you be so frivolous on such a lovely 
day as this ? ” she asked, with a sudden change of 
tone. 

“ It is a day to make one perfectly happy,” said 
Jim earnestly. 

“ And a tiny bit sad, too,” and the wistful look 
came into the girl’s face. 

“ You are right, little one. Sunshine always 
makes a shadow somewhere.” 

“ But it is a dear kind of sadness, all the same,” 
she continued. “Just as a patch of shade is dear 
on a sunny day.” 

“ It is one of our best feelings,” said Jim; “ but 
I don’t know why.” 

“ I like to feel sad when I know I am happy,” 
Alison went on ; “ but when you are really unhappy 
you cannot afford to play with such emotions. It 
hurts too much.” 

“ Poor child,” he said, in a low voice ; “ I am 
afraid you know.” 


I9S 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Then they joined Lavinia, and the rector, and the 
school teachers, aiid waited on the children till all 
the buns and cake and most of the bread-and-butter 
had disappeared. Afterwards Jim played cricket 
with the boys, and Alison “ gathered nuts in May ” 
with Lavinia and the girls till the sun sank in a 
crimson splendour behind the sea, and the pale cool 
light of a full moon came creeping over the hills and 
bringing with it the hush of evening. Then the 
waggons were reloaded with their tired, dirty, hap- 
py freight, and the great event of the year in the 
eyes of juvenile Barnscombe was over. But it left 
its traces in the digestions of the little Gregsons 
and a few of their friends; even the doctor himself 
did not come out of it unscathed, though it was 
not his digestion that had been affected. 


CHAPTER IX 


IN LONDON 

“ How awfully nice of Petronel ! ” exclaimed 
Alison, who had just opened her letter; “she has 
invited me to be one of her bridesmaids.” 

“ It will be delightful for you, my dear,” replied 
her aunt. 

“ Where is it to be ? ” asked Mrs. Garland. 

“In London, Grannie. And oh ! what do you 
think ? ” and she looked up from the last page, “ it 
is actually to be in Westminster Abbey. How 
splendid ! ” 

“ In my young days a parish church was good 
enough for any girl,” observed the old lady. 

“ I thought the Abbey was only used for funerals 
— great ones, I mean ? ” queried Lavinia. 

“ A great wedding is as good as a great funeral 
any day,” laughed Alison. 

“ My dear, my dear ! ” interrupted her grand- 
mother, “ I cannot allow you to speak like that.” 

“ I was only in fun, Grannie.” 

“ That is precisely what I am reproving you for. 

> Indeed you remind me more of a schoolboy than 
a young lady at times, Alison. It is very shocking.” 

199 


200 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Dr. Cary says I am rather like a boy,” ob- 
served the culprit meditatively. 

“ Oh, Alison ! ” exclaimed her aunt, “ what a re- 
proof from James ! He thinks so much of woman- 
liness. I am afraid you had been doing something 
very bad.” 

“ I forget exactly what it was, Aunt Vinnie. It 
might have been sliding down the banisters, which 
I often do, or swinging on a gate, which I always 
do ; but anyway he scolded me, and I was sorry.” 

“ Much good being sorry did you if you already 
forget what it was for,” remarked Airs. Garland 
tartly. 

“ Oh ! of course it wasn't the thing I was sorry 
for,” explained her granddaughter, “ but for being 
scolded. It was then he said I was like a boy.” 

“ It is very good of James to take so much 
trouble with you, Alison,” said her aunt. 

The girl laughed. 

“ I believe men always enjoy scolding, don't you, 
Aunt Vinnie ? ” 

“ Oh, no, my dear ! You are entirely mistaken. 
I know that James would never scold any one unless 
he were acting under a strict sense of duty, for it is 
a very painful duty, especially to so kind-hearted a 
man as he is.” 

“ Does he ever scold you ? ” Alison asked her 
aunt, with some curiosity. 

“ You forget, my dear, that James and I are en- 
gaged to be married,” and Lavinia drew herself up 
with conscious pride. 


IN LONDON 


201 


Alison laughed again. 

“ People always scold me,” she said, after a 
moment's thought. “ I suppose I am made that 
way." 

“ I am afraid they see you need it, child," re- 
marked her grandmother. 

“ No one has ever scolded me — except, of course, 
Mother," observed Lavinia. 

“ Mother is the only person who has never 
scolded me," said Alison quietly. 

Her aunt looked slightly embarrassed — she al- 
ways felt so at the natural mention in common talk 
of any one who had died. She did not like them 
ever to be alluded to; but, if it were absolutely 
necessary, she prepared a very canopy of words 
which brought a funereal tone into the conversa- 
tion, and made every one feel unhappy and uncom- 
fortable. This was her idea of reverence for the 
great Mystery. 

“ What else does Petronel say ? " asked Mrs. 
Garland, looking up from her watch, which she had 
been carefully studying while the eggs were boiling. 

“ A lot about her trousseau which I cannot 
read," answered Alison, returning to the letter, 
“ and that the bridesmaids are to wear white with 
pink sashes, and that everybody is to be asked to 
the wedding, and that the presents are pouring in, 
and — not one word about Lord Conway. I am 
longing to see him." 

“ I consider a six weeks' engagement positively 
indecent," said Mrs. Garland severely. 

14 


202 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ So terribly hurried,” echoed Lavinia, who her- 
self could not get ready in six years. 

“ Petronel has been so difficult to please,” con- 
tinued Alison. “ She has told me about lots of her 
lovers, and why she could not possibly marry any 
one of them. I do wonder what Lord Conway is 
like?" 

“ I suppose a great many men have wanted to 
marry Petronel ? ” said Lavinia. 

“ She says so,” replied Alison, “ only somehow I 
never quite believe girls’ tales about offers. They 
are so apt to multiply at compound interest. For 
any one who was capable of boasting of their num- 
ber would be capable of adding to it, don’t you 
think?” 

“ It must be terribly upsetting to have to refuse 
a man.” The thought almost took away Lavinia’s 
appetite. “ I could never have done such a thing 
myself. It would seem so unkind.” 

“ It would indeed,” observed her niece demurely, 
“ and one should try to be obliging in little things.” 

“ But this is not a little thing ! ” exclaimed La- 
vinia ; “ it is an overwhelming one ! I remember 
now how ill I was the week I accepted James ! ” 

“ Being a doctor he ought to have been able to 
cure you,” said Alison, with a smile. 

“ Oh, my dear ! What an indelicate suggestion ! 
As if we could ever have spoken of such material 
and personal matters at such a time,” and Lavinia 
looked quite shocked. 

“ It took you with biliousness if I remember 


IN LONDON 


203 


rightly,” remarked her mother. “ And I should like 
to see the biliousness I could not cure without any 
doctors or such rubbish.” And the old lady looked 
severe enough to conquer a very plague. 

“ But I do believe Petronel has been very much 
admired,” said Alison, reverting to her late theme ; 
“ she is so extraordinarily good-looking.” 

“ She has a really beautiful face,” agreed La- 
vinia. 

“ And the expression of a termagant,” added her 
mother. “ She will lead any man a dance who mar- 
ries her, mark my words ! ” 

“ I do think it is nice of her to have asked me, 
when it is to be such a grand wedding ! ” 

“ You will bring no discredit on the grandest 
wedding that ever was, my dear,” said Mrs. Gar- 
land graciously, “ for you have a well-set-up figure 
and a face that will pass in a crowd. Though ‘ hand- 
some is that handsome does/ remember.” 

“ Oh, Grannie ! you know it is not ! I am 
ashamed of you for quoting that old copy-book rub- 
bish.” 

“ Upon my word, what are the young folks com- 
ing to ? ” and the old lady quite beamed through her 
spectacles. She was very much pleased at the idea 
of her granddaughter’s being a bridesmaid at so 
important a wedding as Petronel Merrivale’s was 
sure to be. 

“ I am going to London,” Alison told Dr. Cary, 
whom she met in the village that day. 

“ What for ? ” asked the doctor sharply. 


204 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ To be one of Petronel's bridesmaids. Isn't it 
kind of her to have remembered me ? " 

“ Remembered you ! What nonsense ! It is 
very kind of you to go." 

“ Oh, Dr. Cary ! how ridiculous you are ! I am 
just longing to go." 

“ There is a great deal of influenza in London," 
said Jim, in a vexed voice. “ I wonder Mrs. Gar- 
land has given her consent. I should not if I had 
been her." 

“ Why are you so cross ? " and Alison's eyes 
were full of pathos. “ Don't you want me to have 
a treat ? " 

Jim Cary's expression changed. 

“ Of course I want you to have a treat. Only," 
with a short laugh, “ I don't want you to go to 
London." 

“ Why not?" 

“ It is so far away, and — and such lots of things 
might happen there." 

Alison was young enough to want things to 
happen, so she said with a smile : 

“ And what if they did ? " 

“ Oh, I don’t know ! " exclaimed Dr. Cary im- 
patiently, “ no reason, I suppose." 

“ I wish you would not speak as if you were 
angry," and Alison looked up at him wistfully ; “ it 
takes all the shine out of my treat." 

“ Then I won't," he answered, with the half- 
tender smile that was so often seen on his face 
when he talked to Alison. “ Only you are rather 


IN LONDON 


205 

a little creature to go all that long way by your- 
self." 

“ I will be very good." 

“ And don't be altered even the slightest bit by 
all the newness and smartness of things up there," 
and he looked very earnestly at her as he held her 
hand in rather a prolonged good-morning, “ but 
come back just the same. Promise, or I won't let 
you go." • 

“ I promise — honour bright," answered the girl ; 
and then she called back with a laugh ; “ but you 
could not stop my going if I wouldn't." 

The doctor went on his rounds, but somehow 
Barnscombe looked a little different that day. A 
touch of sadness seemed to him to have come into 
everything, the kind of sadness that hovers over 
the last time, and spoiled the bright freshness of 
the first June day. A thousand worrying thoughts 
crowded into the brain of this man who had never 
had any nerves of his own before — absurd sugges- 
tions about railway accidents and infectious dis- 
eases made him restlessly anxious, and at the back 
of it all another fear lurked. 

“ Some fool of a groomsman will fall in love 
with her and carry her off," he muttered savage- 
ly, as he beat the heads off unoffending flowers 
with his stick, “ and she will meet a lot of fast peo- 
ple and get into a horrid, smart set. I wish I 
could look after her — she has no mother, poor 
child!" 

But that was not quite the reason why Jim Cary 


206 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


wanted to look after Alison, though at that time he 
honestly thought that it was. 

It was the evening before the wedding when 
Alison arrived at the Merrivales' London house. 

“ I say, here's ago!” exclaimed Robin, who was 
the first person to greet her in the hall. “ I never 
thought they'd find a Johnny to marry Sis. I'm aw- 
fully glad you've come up to see the show. The cake 
is ai. Bags me to show it you." 

“ All right," promised Alison, “ but not now ; it 
is too late, and I want my tea frightfully." 

“ Her ladyship is in the boudoir," announced a 
solemn footman. 

“ All the rest of the shop is upside down," ex- 
plained her youthful host ; “ we are going to dance 
to-night. I say, isn’t it rather jolly of Lord Conway 
to marry Sis in the middle of a term? It gives me 
three days' holiday. The Head let me come up on 
Saturday. Rather decent of him, wasn't it ? " 

“ Oh, my dear girl ! I am so glad to see you ! " 
exclaimed Lady Merrivale, “ and I know Petronel 
will be. She hasn't seen you since she was engaged. 
She will have heaps to tell you." 

“ It was very good of her to ask me up," said 
Alison gratefully. “ And of you too." 

“ You and her little cousin Celia are the only 
Barnscombe representatives — and a very creditable 
couple, I say. The Conway girls are such frights that 
Petronel said she must counteract them with her 
bridesmaids, or the wedding would be spoiled." 

“ The two Cartaret kids are going to be pages," 


IN LONDON 


20 7 

explained Robin. “ They’ll be sure to kick up a 
row. What fun it will be ! ” 

“You naughty boy, how. can you?” and Lady 
Merrivale’s voice was fpll of that helpless, half-en- 
couraging tone of reproof that grown-up people so 
often assume towards the youthful forms of sin that 
happen to amuse them. 

The dinner-party that night was quite a new ex- 
perience to Alison. She felt all the excitement of 
entering a world where she had never been before, 
and she meant to enjoy every minute of it. 

“Are you a great friend of the Merrivales ? ” 
she asked of the rising politician who was selected 
to take her down to dinner. 

“ Friend is a strong word,” he replied, with a 
smile, “ and a great friend is a prehistoric sort of 
thing that belongs to the days of Damon and 
Pythias, don’t you know? But the Merrivales are 
most pleasant acquaintances of some three years’ 
standing.” 

“ Then they will never be anything more than 
acquaintances,” said Alison. 

Mr. Ridsdale looked round sharply. The girl 
seemed not only to have a singularly pretty pair 
of shoulders but a head on them as well. 

“ Once an acquaintance always an acquaintance, 
like clergymen and mortgages,” he murmured ; 
“ but I thought that acquaintances sometimes grew 
into friends, just as thirty years ago I thought that 
ponies grew into horses.” 

“ Things never really grow into something else.” 


208 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


u Pardon me, but that is just what they invari- 
ably do ; the moment you get hold of a thing it al- 
ways grows into something else. Amiable girls 
grow into ill-tempered wives : extravagant youths 
grow into economical husbands : dear old family 
friends grow into excruciating mothers-in-law : Ar- 
cadian flocks grow into tough roast mutton : and 
lamps which turn night into day in a Bond Street 
shop grow into the foul-smelling, smoke-breathing 
dragons which drive many an innocent and well- 
meaning man out of his petroleum-poisoned home. ,, 

“ I don’t believe you know what a real friend 
is,” said Alison. 

“ Yes, I do. A real friend is a person to whom 
you read aloud all the verses that you write, and 
describe all the symptoms that you endure, and 
complain of all the servants that you employ. After 
a time he expects you to give him his turn, and to 
listen to his poetry, and diseases, and domestic 
worries. It is then that you discern that friendship 
is an empty form, and that the wintry wind is balmy 
compared with your friend’s selfish treachery; for 
how can he expect you to listen to him in the same 
way that he listened to you? It is expectations 
such as this which strain friendship to the breaking- 
point.” 

“ Oh, but if you were really friends you would 
think the poetry splendid, and be sorry for the symp- 
toms, and sympathise about the servants ! ” 

“ My dear young lady, friendship and insanity 
are not necessarily convertible terms. Softening of 


IN LONDON 


209 

the heart does not always entail softening of the 
brain.” 

“ It is just because you don’t understand it that 
it looks like that. Things often do. For instance, 
what could seem more insane to the unmusical than 
a Wagner festival ? ” 

“ Nothing — absolutely nothing! I would rather 
even endure friendship than music. It does not last 
so long.” 

“ And you can always feel that the ending of a 
friendship is in your own hands,” said Alison, 
catching his tone ; “ but the ending of classical 
music is only a question of hope.” 

“ And the caprice of an incarnate demon called 
a conductor, with a little white wand. You know 
that as men are mortal he will die some time, and 
he must stop then ; but you have no idea when 
that will be, and why he should ever stop be- 
fore.” 

“ I am awfully glad you are not musical ; I am 
not, and I was always afraid it was so dreadfully 
ignorant and stupid of me. Of course, I love the 
tunes I know, but that is the worst kind of unmusi- 
calness.” 

“‘The man that hath not music in his soul/” said 
Herbert Ridsdale, “ is supposed to be capable of 
all enormities. I am that man.” 

“ Are you capable of very bad things ? ” 

“ Of everything except shooting a fox, and that 
is only because I could not hit him.” 

Alison laughed, and her companion distinctly 


210 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


enjoyed her girlish laughter; it reminded him some- 
how of the country in spring. 

“ And what is the woman who hath not music in 
her soul capable of?” she asked. 

“ That is for you to say. I know my own depths 
of possibility, but I have not plumbed yours.” 

“ I wonder if any one ever really plumbed their 
own depths of possibility ? ” and the girl's face grew 
serious. 

“ I doubt it; anddt is this which keeps one from 
becoming sick of one's self. It is rather interesting 
to know that you have got a latent poet, or mur- 
derer, or prime minister buttoned up inside your 
waistcoat, who may break loose at any moment.” 

“ I think I would be sure it was a prime minister, 
and not a murderer, if I were you,” interrupted 
Alison. 

“ But you can never be sure ; that is where the 
interest comes in. It all depends upon circum- 
stances. Does your party fall to pieces for lack of 
a leader? — out pops your prime minister. Does 
your tailor make your coat too tight and your 
trousers too short ? — out rushes the murderer. 
Does some young woman happen to have eyes the 
colour of a jasper stone? — at once your poet appears 
full-fledged upon the scene.” 

“ Then you believe that we are entirely creatures 
of circumstance ? ” said Alison dubiously. 

“ Absolutely ! Here am I, for instance, a 4 mute, 
inglorious Milton ' and a 4 Cromwell guiltless of my 
country's blood,' simply because I have never lost 


IN LONDON 


21 I 


either my eyesight or my religious liberty. And 
there are you, a mute, inglorious Mrs. Browning 
and a guiltless Charlotte Corday, simply because 
you were born after ringlets and revolutions had 
alike gone out of fashion/’ 

“ Oh, no ! ” interrupted the girl ; “ I think you 
are wrong there. I don’t believe in mute, inglorious 
anybodies, because people who can do things in- 
variably do them. A dreary London house and bad 
health are not enough to make a poet. The circum- 
stances of a home in the loveliest country in the 
world, and being strong enough to live out of doors, 
as I am, would be much more poetical; only, you 
see, the poetry happened to be in Mrs. Browning, 
and not in me. Of course, she had a lover to write 
her sonnets to ; but then so have most people, from 
the scullery-maid upwards.” 

“ And every woman who has a lover does not 
write sonnets, thank Heaven ! If she did, the ter- 
rors of love would be increased tenfold.” 

Alison looked at him curiously. 

“ I wonder if there is anything you don’t make 
fun of? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, my dinner, which is either a satisfying 
fact or a poignant memory.” 

“ Tell me,” she exclaimed suddenly, in a pretty, 
confiding way, “ whether I ought to talk to the man 
on the other side now ? It is a good thing you took 
me down to dinner, isn’t it? or I should have been 
obliged to go in with a stranger. That is very Irish, 
but you know what I mean.” 


212 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ It is a delightful compliment, and I think it 
is a very good thing that I was allotted to you, and 
one for which, along with the other incidents of the 
dinner, I am truly thankful. Who is the man on the 
other side ? ” 

“ I don’t know his name. He seems rather a 
hungry person.” 

“ Can’t you read his name-card ? He is old 
enough to have left it exposed.” 

“ What has age to do with it ? ” 

“ Oh ! my dear young lady, you have not been 
out long enough to know that it is a duty we all 
owe to society to leave our name-cards for the world 
to read, seeing that we are not yet sufficiently mod- 
ern to have our names emblazoned on our shirt 
fronts.” 

“ I don’t think people’s names matter much,” 
said Alison ; “ the thing that matters is if they are 
nice people.” 

“ Pardon me — I know that a rose by any other 
name would smell as sweet, but it would not be 
eligible for a prize at the rose show.” 

“ I am not sure whether that would matter so 
dreadfully — it would be nicer to be a rose in a coun- 
try garden that was allowed to die in its bed, so to 
speak, than a poor cut, wired bloom at the Crystal 
Palace.” 

“ The world does not think so, and I am of the 
world, worldly.” 

“ I am so sorry for the poor London flowers,” 
continued Alison, glancing at the great bunches of 


IN LONDON 


213 


roses which covered the table, “ for though they 
look so fresh and happy they are pinched by most 
uncomfortable wires and often killed by them, 
too” 

“ So are the poor London ladies,” he observed 
dryly. 

“ I have just read the other man's name,” she 
said suddenly ; “ it is Sir Gregory Garman.” 

“ Then you are right, he is a hungry man. He 
has carried hunger to a science and the satisfaction 
of it to a fine art.” 

Just then Sir Gregory addressed her. 

“ I am sorry to see you have let the plovers' eggs 
go by you. May I not call them back ? ” 

Alison laughed. 

“ I could not eat eggs at the end of my dinner,” 
she said, “ because I am only accustomed to eating 
them at the beginning of my breakfast.” 

“ But not plovers' eggs, my dear young lady.” 

“ Do they taste different from a fowl's ? ” she 
asked innocently, with a twinkle in her eye. 

“ Taste different ! ” and he gazed at her in aston- 
ishment over his spectacles, almost feeling that she 
had been guilty of an irreverence. What right had 
so young a girl to speak familiarly, almost disre- 
spectfully, of plovers' eggs? 

“ I know all about the outsides of birds' eggs, of 
course,” she continued, “ but the insides seem pretty 
much alike — when you blow them.” 

Sir Gregory by this time had recovered his first 
shock. 


214 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ A plover’s egg,” he said solemnly, “ is one of 
the greatest delicacies it is possible to enjoy, and 
one of its greatest charms is that its season is so 
limited. We can force strawberries and asparagus 
and green peas till we are eating them nearly all 
the year round, but plovers’ eggs cannot be forced,” 
and he looked sadly after the retreating dish. 

“ My favourite thing to eat is ices,” adapting 
herself to her companion with a readiness worthy 
of her sex. 

“ Ruinous to the digestion ! ” gasped Sir 
Gregory. 

“ I have often made them for myself in the win- 
ter with snow and raspberry jam,” she confided in 
him, “ or with orange juice. But the worst of snow 
is that it has a taste of dust like your fingers smell 
after you have been touching old books.” 

The worthy baronet regarded her with the tol- 
erant amazement that men only extend to the in- 
fantile or to the insane, and promptly changed the 
subject. 

“ What part of the country do you come from ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Devonshire. It is the most perfect country in 
the whole world. Do you know it ? ” 

“ I was staying in South Devon not long ago, 
close to Dartmoor.” 

“ Oh, tell me what the prison is like inside ! I 
am so much interested in gaols.” 

“ I am sorry I can’t oblige you, but I have never 
been inside a gaol in my life.” 


IN LONDON 


215 

“ That is greatly to your credit/’ said Alison de- 
murely. 

“ I do not see that. As it happens, I have never 
been one of the visiting Justices; had I been, I 
should not have neglected my duty.” 

When the ladies at last rose to leave the dining- 
room, Alison followed them, feeling cleverer than 
she had ever done in her life before ; and the feeling 
pleased and excited her. But during the next half- 
hour in the drawing-room, where every one was 
talking about things she did not understand, such as 
the merits of a person called Kate Reily, and the 
charges of Redfern as compared with those of Rus- 
sell and Allen, and where no one took the least no- 
tice of her presence among them, Alison began to 
feel herself a long way from home. She watched 
Petronel curiously, and wondered what the change 
was in her that was too subtle to describe but too 
strong to ignore. She was surprised that her friend 
could appear so gay on her last evening at home, 
and thought that if she had been Petronel she 
should have wanted just then to be alone with 
her mother and not in the midst of such a crowd 
of acquaintances. “ Only somehow Lady Mer- 
rivale does not seem like a mother,” she said to 
herself, as she looked across the room to where 
her ladyship was the central figure of a very noisy 
group. 

A voice on the left startled her. 

“ So you are an old friend of Petronel’s ? ” 

“ Yes, I knew her down at home,” and Alison’s 


2l6 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


tone suddenly softened as she thought how dear it 
was down a*t home. 

“ Lady Merrivale is marrying her daughter well 
enough to satisfy even her extravagant ambition,” 
continued the lady. “ But it has been a difficult 
game for her to play.” 

“ I don’t quite understand you.” 

“ There has been a good deal of thin ice to skate 
over, don’t you know ? Conway is not a very attrac- 
tive person, and Petronel has a will of her own; 
she jibbed a good deal at one time.” 

“ Do you mean to say that Petronel is being 
forced into this marriage ? ” asked Alison, aghast. 

The lady laughed a short, hard laugh. 

“ Young ladies nowadays do not require much 
forcing into a marriage with an earl who has twenty 
thousand a year.” 

“ I am sure Petronel would not marry him un- 
less she loved him. She is not that kind of girl.” 

“ Oh, wouldn’t she, my dear? That’s all you 
know. Besides, there is nobody living who could 
love Conway. But I knew that Lady Merrivale 
meant business from the first. Ah ! here come the 
men. Now look at Lord Conway yourself and im- 
agine any one’s loving him,” and she laughed more 
loudly than ever. 

Alison found a sudden sick sensation in her 
heart. The bridegroom-elect was a little, rowdy, un- 
wholesome-looking man, with a manner that made 
the girl shudder, and a loud slangy way of speaking 
that seemed out of place except in a stable yard. 


IN LONDON 


21 7 


“ He is like a horrid, low groom,” she thought 
to herself; and she looked at Petronel, who was 
more beautiful than ever, a bright spot of colour 
burning in her cheeks, and a cold glitter in her 
eyes. 

Then the truth of the strange lady’s statement 
broke into Alison’s soul, and all the pleasure and 
brightness of the scene were spoiled to her. When 
Herbert Ridsdale came up and spoke, she could 
only answer in monosyllables, it seemed such a long 
time since she had talked and laughed at dinner. 
The dance afterwards was so rowdy that Alison 
grew more wretched still. She was frightened and 
homesick, and even Robin’s merry face failed to 
bring her the sense of comradeship they always had 
together in Devonshire. 

“ I do wish Dr. Cary were here ! ” she kept say- 
ing to herself ; and the wish was so strong that it 
seemed to tear a hole in the very tissues of her 
being. She knew just how he would have looked 
had he been there — a head above his fellows, and 
with that commanding way which made him always 
seem the most important person in the room. And 
she knew, too, that he would have taken care of 
her, and shielded her from the noisy chaff and rough 
practical jokes that the Merrivales’ set considered 
such fun. 

“ Little girl, you are tired,” said Sir Gregory 
Garman, looking kindly at Alison’s white face and 
mournful eyes, though her lips smiled in a wintry 
way, and she tried to talk easily to her partners. 

15 


218 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Yes, I am,” she answered quietly; “I have 
come on a long journey to-day.” 

And it was a longer journey even than from 
Barnscombe to London — a journey that takes us out 
of the first sunny land of simple belief in high ideals, 
into the foul, heated atmosphere of low ambitions 
and sordid triumphs, and the care of only earthly 
things. We feel a wave of sorrow and pity for its 
poor inmates as we pass through some dirty slum 
and see what ugly lives have to be lived there; so 
Alison felt depressed and saddened by the ugliness 
of the lives about her then. She had never imagined 
before that mothers could sell their daughters, and 
women barter their lives for such things as money 
and rank and social success. She had always be- 
lieved the best of everybody, and would not even 
listen to Lavinia’s mild criticisms on Lady Merrivale 
and Petronel’s frivolity, because they were her 
friends. She was too young then to know that there 
is another point much farther on the way of life, 
from which, because the view is wider and the 
height greater, we still see, and so are right in be- 
lieving in, the best of everybody. 

It was between two and three in the morning 
when the festivities at last were brought to an end. 

“ Good-night, girls ! ” and Lady Merrivale’s 
voice rang with her coming triumph. “ Early to 
bed, for we must all be up early to-morrow. That 
is the worst of having to be married before three 
o’clock ; we shall have to be down so early.” 

Petronel went with Alison into her room. The 


IN LONDON 


219 


girls had hardly spoken to each other before, as the 
coming bride was upstairs trying on her wedding- 
dress when her friend arrived, and so they had met 
only in the drawing-room. 

“ I have never properly congratulated you, 
dear,” said Alison, kissing her. “ I hope you are 
really happy ? ” 

“ Of course I am,” a little sharply. “ Don't you 
know that Conway is the catch of the season ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I know that it is a brilliant match,” 
continued Alison wearily. “ But you do love him, 
don't you, Petronel ? ” 

“We don’t mean to bother our heads much 
about love ” — with a short laugh — “ he will go his 
way and I shall go mine. And there aren't finer 
diamonds in England. Mother says I never ought 
to cease to be thankful for them. I can wear dia- 
monds, too,” and she glanced at herself in the long 
mirror with a proud look of satisfaction. 

“ But diamonds cannot make you happy ! ” 

“ What nonsense ! I, for one, could not be 
happy without them. You are a perfect baby, Ali- 
son, in your ideas; but, of course, you can’t learn 
anything of the world in that little west of England 
hole and corner.” 

“ Yes, I can. I have learned that there is some- 
thing better than diamonds in the world. And I 
wish that you would learn it too before it is too late,” 
and her flash of indignation faded at the quick touch 
of pity for her friend. 

“ My mother knows more about the world than 


220 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


you do, and she says the great thing is to marry 
well, and that you will be sure to get to like each 
other quite enough afterwards. Besides, she says it 
is silly and old-fashioned to marry for love, and I 
should be sure to be wretched if I did. This was 
when a man I knew in the Guards was about a good 
deal, and I rather liked him. But he only had his 
pay and enough of his own to keep him in cigars and 
button-holes.” 

“ Did you like him better than you do Lord 
Conway ? ” asked Alison breathlessly. 

“ Of course I did. What a silly question ! He 
was big and good-looking, and did not talk ever- 
lastingly of jockey and bookies as Conway does. 
And he never made me feel at all bored or sick. 
It was a pity he was so poor ! ” 

“ Cannot you do anything while there still is 
time, dear?” 

“ I wish you wouldn't be so tiresome,” a little 
fretfully. “ Of course Mother knows best.” 

“ What does Lady Merrivale say about the man 
in the Guards ? ” 

“ That I can have him to stay down at Conway 
Royal. It will be fun then ! ” 

Alison's eyes were full of tears as she kissed her 
friend good-night. 

“ I am afraid I don't quite know how to con- 
gratulate you properly,” she said softly, “ but I 
want you to be much happier than you hope.” 

“ You are a good little thing,” and Petronel 
looked half-amusedly at her friend's pale face with 


IN LONDON 


221 


the tumbled hair about it that gave her such a child- 
ish look. 

“ I am older than you are, anyway/' replied Ali- 
son, smiling. 

“ But years younger in experience and knowl- 
edge of the world, and all that kind of thing, you 
know. Still, I am glad you have come to be my 
bridesmaid." 

“ Thank you, dear. Good-night." 

“ Go to sleep quickly to be ready for the fun to- 
morrow." 

“ The fun ! " repeated Alison to herself, as she 
tossed about trying to go to sleep. “ Oh ! I have 
such a nasty taste in my mind! I wish I were at 
home again." 

And some of those at home — for all Barnscombe 
was home — were wishing it, too. 


CHAPTER X 


A WEDDING 

Alison woke very early on the following morn- 
ing, with that sense of an overshadowing cloud 
which is always the heritage of a trouble the pre- 
ceding day has brought. And then there came a 
reaction, born of fresh air and cold water, which 
drove the night before and all its fears a long way 
off, and assured her that things must be all right 
when seen through the sunshine of a new day. 

“ I dare say Petronel really cares, but is shy of 
showing that she does,” she decided as she brushed 
her hair, “ and no doubt Lord Conway is quite nice 
underneath, and all these horrid suggestions are 
only a kind of fashionable chaff. It was silly of me 
to mind.” 

So do things change their colour in the morning 
light. Everything looks different and fresh, even a 
familiar garden or the well-known London streets, 
and artists tell us that the reason is that all the 
shadows lie on the opposite side of things to that on 
which we are accustomed to see them later in the 
day. Perhaps, too, that is the reason why thoughts 
and feelings also are freshened, and in a way made 


A WEDDING 


223 


new. The shadows which lie before us in the evening, 
as we wander away from the sunset into the night, 
lie behind us in the morning as we walk along in 
exactly the same direction, our faces turned towards 
the coming day. As Alison stood at her open win- 
dow she drank in the sweet fresh air that seemed 
to have been dropped down from heaven just to 
cover the trees and grass of the park, so that they 
might forget that they were not really at home in 
the country ; and she watched the dear little dirty 
town sparrows chirping and fighting over whatever 
they could pick up for breakfast, and hopping about 
in the gutter in preference to the grass, as only 
town-bred creatures could. The haze of smoke had 
not yet risen from countless kitchen chimneys to 
blur the beauty of the summer morning’s sky, and 
none of the houses had opened their eyes to look 
out on the ceaseless panorama of the London streets. 
By and by quaint calls were heard from those whose 
wares were wanted early, and Alison stood watching 
with sympathetic insight the wonder of the great 
city’s waking moments. It stirred, stretched, and 
shook itself, as some huge giant who has slept ; and 
then sat up with open eyes and smiled, and London 
was awake. 

“ I say, you are down early,” and Robin greeted 
her in the big, empty dining-room at nine o’clock. 

“ It is late for me. Grannie always breakfasts at 
eight.” 

“I am jolly glad it is fine, aren’t you? ” continued 
the boy,” with his mouth full of broiled kidneys. 


224 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ A wet day would have been horrid ! " 

“ Rather ! I say, don't look at me during the 
service. I shall laugh to a dead certainty if you do. 
A friend of Petronel's, an awfully rich girl, was mar- 
ried the other day to a chap with about twopence a 
year, and when it came to him to say, ‘ with all my 
worldly goods I thee endow,' all the bridesmaids 
sniggered. Jolly good joke, wasn't it? With the 
boot on the other leg like that ! " 

“ I hate jokes of that kind," replied Alison vehe- 
mently. She was not going to listen to any more 
which would not leave a nice taste behind them. 

“ They are awfully funny up here," argued 
Robin ; “ Mother screams at them." 

“ You don't think them funny; you know you 
don't!" 

“ Oh, well ! I know they are not funny like the 
jokes we have at school. Rowing chaps and fooling 
the new kids, and all that kind of thing. But 
grown-ups think them frightfully funny," the boy 
persisted. 

“ Dr. Cary wouldn't think them funny." 

“ I suppose not. But then he never seems so 
awfully grown-up as the fellows Father knows. He 
will talk to me, you see, and they never will." 

“ I think he seems a great deal more grown-up," 
argued the girl, “ and that is why he can afford to 
talk to children, and enjoy doing so. But you never 
heard him make a horrid, cheap joke in your life." 

“ No, and yet he is a sight jollier than other 
people. I wish Sis had been married at Barns- 


A WEDDING 


225 


combe, and then he would have been there.” And 
breakfast was finished quite amicably, before they 
went to examine the presents. 

“ Look at this ! ” exclaimed Lady Merrivale, 
waving a photograph frame in the air. She was 
putting a last touch to all the arrangements. “ Did 
you ever see a poorer, meaner, more rubbishy little 
thing in all your life? The Pettits ought to have 
been ashamed to have sent this one-and-eleven- 
penny-halfpenny affair. I wish I had never invited 
them.” 

“ It is silver,” suggested Alison. 

“ Silver ! ” with a scornful gesture ; “ the little 
dog is evidently a lost one in this case, for I have 
looked for him in vain.” 

“ IPs a lion, mother,” explained Robin, “ not a 
dog.” 

“ I have carefully examined all the silver,” con- 
tinued her ladyship frankly, “ and most of it is 
sterling.” 

Alison looked surprised. She was old-fashioned 
enough to think that one should not look a gift- 
horse in the mouth. But then she had never been at 
a smart wedding before. 

“ And actually Mr. Webster sent a book of his 
own poems ! Did you ever know anything so sick- 
ening? I expected at least Apostle-spoons from 
him. Nasty, shabby old thing!” 

“ But there are heaps of exquisite presents.” 

“ Of course some of the people were bound to 
give decent things — all Conway's aunts and uncles. 


226 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


It was a bright idea of mine inviting that rich, vulgar 
old man we met at Cannes. He has forked out well 
with a diamond bangle.” 

“ Oh, what a dear little picture ! ” exclaimed Ali- 
son, picking up a sketch of a country lane. “ Why, 
it is one of our Barnscombe lanes. Look, Lady 
Merrivale,” excitedly, “ don't you recognise that 
gate just below the blacksmith's cottage? Who 
painted it? ” 

“ George Lumsden,” referring to the card. “ I 
don’t think much of it myself. It was never even 
in the Academy.” 

“ But it will remind Petronel of home. I should 
love to have it if I were she.” 

“ What did Dr. Cary send ? ” Robin wanted to 
know. 

“ A first edition of somebody. I forget who, but 
it is a very valuable one and beautifully bound. I 
wish he could have come up. I'm always awfully 
fond of Jim.” 

“ Why couldn't he come? ” Alison asked quick- 
ly. “ I did not know he had been invited.” 

“ Oh ! some tiresome old woman in the village 
was dying and he wouldn't leave her. Poor people 
are always so inconsiderate. And if she was dying, 
what good could he do by staying with her? But 
that is just like him. Always so unpractical ! ” 

Alison did not say anything, but she felt a sud- 
den breath of bracing air, and a glow of exhilaration. 
“ That is just like him,” she repeated to herself, 
for she knew how he would have loved to come 


A WEDDING 


227 


up with her. And then her pride in him suddenly 
failed, and she began to think how much nicer 
everything would have been if he had come up ; 
and how she wished Betsy Gregson had not been 
dying ; and then, with a rush of shame, how horrid 
she herself was to be thinking just what Lady Mer- 
rivale had so much shocked her by saying. 

“ This makes the tenth button-hook/’ said 
Lady Merrivale resignedly. “ They are popular 
offerings from younger sons — eighteen-and-six in 
a case. Never mind, they will do for Petronel to 
give as Christmas presents for the next few years.” 

“ She would never give away one of her wed- 
ding presents ! ” exclaimed Alison. 

But Lady Merrivale had flitted on. 

“ Mercy on us ! ” they heard her scream, “ here 
is a garnet brooch ! Petronel never told me of that. 
I dare say she never saw it. What an awful thing ! ” 

“ Grannie sent it,” and Alison’s cheeks grew very 
pink. She knew as well as Lady Merrivale did that 
it was an impossible ornament, but she also knew 
that her grandmother had valued it since her girl- 
hood, and that it had been with a pang that the old 
lady had at last decided that it alone of her scant 
possessions was worthy of being reset and presented 
to so important a person as the future Countess of 
Conway. 

“ Poor little brooch ! ” said the girl tenderly, as 
Lady Merrivale went off with many apologies. “ I 
wish you were safe at home again in Grannie’s jewel- 
case ! ” 


228 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


And then she smiled as she thought of the old 
soap-box which was dignified now as Mrs. Garland’s 
jewel-case. And somehow the garnet brooch re- 
minded her of Lavinia, and seemed to tell a sad little 
story of how few places there are in the world for 
the old-fashioned, unattractive people when once 
they leave the home where they are so much ad- 
mired, and considered eternally young. And Ali- 
son felt afraid that the experience of life would be as 
hard on her grandmother’s daughter as on her 
grandmother’s brooch; for she knew deep down in 
her heart that her aunt had lost the power of attrac- 
tion that she must have had as a girl when Jim 
Cary «became engaged to her. She saw that he was 
more than content now to go on in the old way 
without any thought of marriage ; and she realised 
that Lavinia would have to be content with a place 
among her mother’s treasures in the old soap-box, 
instead of resting in a beautiful jewel-case of her 
own. So her heart was full of a great pity. 

The pageant of the wedding itself was more beau- 
tiful than Alison had ever thought possible. The 
long white procession of the choir, brightened by the 
scarlet cassocks of the boys and the clergy’s crimson 
hoods, came first; then the bridal procession, with 
Petronel at its head looking more beautiful than 
ever, and the tiny train-bearers and eight brides- 
maids following, with a perfect garden of pink roses 
in their hands and waving white feathers in their 
hats. The magnificence of the Abbey itself, and the 
triumphant swell of its organ, filled Alison’s soul 


A WEDDING 


229 


with that thrill which follows in the wake of great 
beauty or power everywhere. She saw the gayly- 
dressed, whispering crowd only dimly, as some 
rustling mass of flowers banking the aisles, and she 
felt that it was more really “ in the sight of God ” 
than “ in the face of this congregation ” that the 
solemn bond was being riveted between two lives. 
The plaintive hymn brought tears to her eyes, and 
Petronel's whisper that she would “ love, honour, 
and obey,” drove all the ugly thoughts right out of 
Alison's head, and left a reverent wonder at such 
sweet mysteries in their stead. And Lady Merri- 
vale breathed a sigh of relief, and bent her neck — 
the only portion of her body she was capable of 
bending in her best gown — at the last prayer with a 
feeling of profound thanksgiving that she had won 
her heart's desire — a really eligible son-in-law — in 
spite of every difficulty. Then the procession filed 
down again towards the big west door, and the 
crowd hustled and pushed, as only a well-dressed 
crowd can, to see the last of the bride and bride- 
groom. 

“ Ha, ha ! awfully glad that's over. Beastly ner- 
vous job ! ” laughed Lord Conway to the few who 
were illustrious enough to enrich the register with 
their names. 

“ Come on ! ” said Petronel impatiently, as she 
swept out. 

She gave one glance up the nave towards the 
chancel, where she had left her liberty and her ideals 
and the few girlish hopes that her mother had been 


230 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

unable to destroy ; and then, with a proud gesture, 
she turned towards the man who could afford to pay 
her price, and smiled as she walked beside him ; but 
her smile was not a pleasant one to see. 

Alison had never imagined that so many people 
could be crammed into one house as were to be 
found at the Merrivales , on this occasion. It seemed 
to her more like a congregation moving step by 
step to the church door than a private party. But 
then she was not a London girl. 

“ Here, my dear,” called Lady Merrivale, who 
could hardly move in the packed drawing-room, 
“ Mr. Lumsden wants to be introduced to you.” 

“ Lady Merrivale tells me you live at Barns- 
combe,” he began. “ I loved Barnscombe once 
upon a time.” 

“ I love it now,” Alison answered, with a happy 
smile ; “ it is my home.” 

“ Whereabouts is your home there ? ” 

“ The whole place is home to me — fields, lanes, 
sand-hills, and, above all, the seashore. But my 
address is ‘ The Old House.’ Mrs. Garland is my 
grandmother.” 

“ Indeed ! I was there a long time ago.” 

“ I am so glad ! It is very nice to meet some 
one who knows Barnscombe. I am rather home- 
sick away from it.” And a wistful look crossed her 
face. 

“ Have you been up here long ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” But then, with a sudden laugh, 
“ How silly I am ! I only came yesterday, but it 


A WEDDING 


231 


really does seem a dreadfully long time. So much 
has happened, and I have seen so many people, and 
it is all so big and new. I can’t believe it was only 
yesterday that I was at Barnscombe station.” 

“ I used to know a dear little girl down there,” 
George Lumsden continued regretfully, “ who was 
so sweet and gentle, and as lovable as she was lovely. 
Poor little soul ! ” 

“ What happened to her?” Alison asked in al- 
most a whisper, for the artist’s face was so sad. 

“ Her mother killed her,” he said slowly, glanc- 
ing towards the centre of the room where the new 
Lady Conway was holding her court, and receiving 
endless congratulations. 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Alison, with horror, “ how 
terribly sad ! I wish she had died instead.” 

“ So do I,” replied her companion earnestly ; “ I 
thought at first she had ; but that was before I knew 
the truth.” 

“ I never heard of such a dreadful thing ! ” 

“ There are many dreadful things we do not hear 
of ; but that does not prevent their being true, all 
the same.” 

“ I suppose it was a long time ago?” queried 
Alison ; “ I was never told about it by any one.” 

“ I am not sure how many people knew about it, 
except myself,” he answered. “ The mother herself 
does not know.” 

“ Then she did not do it on purpose ? ” exclaimed 
Alison with a tone of relief. 

“ My dear Miss Royse, we all have a certain 


232 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


knowledge of inevitable consequences ; and if I were 
to set fire to your muslin dress because I said I 
thought it would look pretty in a blaze, that would 
be no excuse when I was convicted of burning you 
to death.” 

“ Poor, unhappy mother ! ” 

“ And all the poorer,” he added gravely, “ be- 
cause she does not know how much she is to be 
pitied.” 

“ What a sad story ! ” and Alison’s face was full 
of sympathy. 

“ And the saddest thing is that stories such as 
this are being written every day, and nobody ever 
takes the trouble to read them. The dear child that 
has been given to many a mother is lost for ever.” 

“Oh, no ! ” replied the girl earnestly, thinking he 
referred to death, “ what God takes care of for us is 
not really lost, you know.” 

“ But what we ourselves deliberately throw away 
is. I wonder,” with a slight smile, “ why I am talk- 
ing to you like this ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” and Alison looked up at him in- 
quiringly. 

“ Perhaps it is because I feel that you would 
understand more than girls of your age generally 
do. Anyway, it is too bad of me on a festive occa- 
sion like this.” 

“ Oh, don’t turn it all into nothing but a party, 
too ! ” cried the girl. “ A wedding is such a solemn 
thing, and everybody here seems to think it nothing 
but a joke, and as if there was no deeper thing at all. 


A WEDDING 


233 

Even her mother does not seem to mind losing Pet- 
ronel a bit.” 

“ Lady Merrivale has had a far heavier loss than 
to-day’s,” continued George, “ and she did not mind 
that either.” 

“ Oh, I am so sorry ! I did not know. And 
somehow it makes it more pathetic when the people 
themselves do not mind, don’t you think ? because it 
shows they do not understand.” 

“ There are some things we have no right not 
to understand. Always remember that, Miss 
Royse.” 

Alison looked a little puzzled. She liked this 
sad-faced, serious man and the way he talked, 
though she felt she could not follow all his meanings. 

“ You painted that portrait of Petronel, didn’t 
you ? ” she asked, as they drifted into the dining- 
room with a stream of hungry guests. 

George Lumsden smiled. 

“ Yes. Do you think it is anything like her 
now ? ” 

Alison looked long at the picture. 

“ I see her clear-cut features, and the same lovely 
blue eyes, and the golden curly hair, and the flower- 
like colouring ; but — there is something in that 
baby’s face I can’t find in Petronel’s. What is it? ” 

“ The promise of what she might have been,” 
answered the artist ; “ it was wiped out long ago.” 

“ I believe Petronel is nicer underneath than she 
seems,” said Alison loyally. 

“ You are her friend.” 

16 


234 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ She has always been very kind to me.” 

“ When you go back to Barnscombe, give a nice 
message from me to Jim Cary.” 

“ Do you know him, too? ” And the girl’s face 
lit up with a happy light. 

“ He is an old friend of mine. What does he do 
with himself now ? ” 

“ Oh, heaps of splendid things! Nothing is 
done without him. Indeed, Dr. Cary is Barnscombe 
somehow; he is so identified with everything and 
everybody there.” 

“ And Barnscombe is home,” said George to 
himself. “ Poor, silly Lavinia ! But I am glad, 
nevertheless,” and he glanced admiringly at Alison, 
who was looking very fresh and bright and sweet in 
her bridesmaid’s frock. It was her face, pale with 
emotion, the tears trembling in her big brown eyes, 
that had attracted him to her in the Abbey, and 
made him seek an introduction afterwards. 

“ A girl of lights and shades,” he described her 
to himself, for now her eyes were twinkling, and her 
cheeks bright with colour. “Jim won’t get tired of 
her ! Nothing has happened yet or she would not 
have spoken of him so enthusiastically. But some- 
thing will happen soon, or she would not have done 
so either.” 

Which showed that George Lumsden had even 
more than the subtle swiftness of an artist’s eye. 

“ I can’t eat any more, I simply can’t,” said 
Robin sadly, as he came out into the hall, where the 
guests were assembling to bid the bride good-bye. 


A WEDDING 


235 

“ It is an awful pity to be allowed and yet not able 
to, but I can’t even go one more.” 

“ I am sorry for you,” said the artist ; “ to have 
opportunity and yet to be unable to make use of it 
is a bitter experience.” 

“ I wish I had a dozen sisters, so that they 
might all have good old weddings like this. It has 
been ripping, hasn’t it? ” 

“ But a dozen peers might not have been forth- 
coming to marry them,” suggested George. 

“ Oh, Mother would have routed them out some- 
how. And even if she hadn’t, you can have a jolly 
wedding whatever the fellow is. Conway hasn’t 
had much to do to-day, you see.” / 

“ Oh, no ! — a mere trifle. You did not happen 
to listen to the service in the Abbey, I suppose ? ” 

Robin looked surprised. 

“ Rather not. I didn’t think anybody had to.” 

“ You are quite right. There is no compul- 
sion.” 

“ I say, here comes Sis,” continued the boy. 
“ Let’s clear the way.” 

A hush fell over the whole company as the girl 
came down the stairs. The bridesmaids, like dainty 
policemen, lined the way from the staircase to the 
door and kept back the crowd. 

“ Good-bye, my sweet darling ! ” cried Lady 
Merrivale, pulling Petronel’s hat to a slightly more 
becoming angle. 

“ Good-bye, my dear,” said Sir Robert, kissing 
her clumsily* and fussing about round the carriage 


236 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

to hide the strange feeling of emotion which made 
him for a moment uncomfortable and depressed. 

“ Good-bye, good-bye,” echoed many friends, 
and a hailstorm of rice pelted Lord and Lady Con- 
way as they took their seats in the carriage. 

So Petronel drove away into her new life with a 
hard smile on her beautiful face, and Alison stooped 
down over her flowers to hide a tear for the friend 
who was going so far away. 

“ You do well to congratulate me,” Lady Mer- 
rivale’s voice was heard saying to some one, “ for 
to-day is the proudest one of all my life.” 

“ Good-bye, Miss Royse,” said George Lums- 
den, as he passed towards the front door. “ Give my 
love to Barnscombe. And remember that China is 
not the only country where mothers deliberately 
slay their baby-girls.” 

“ What is Lumsden talking like a missionary to 
you for, my dear young lady ? ” asked Mr. Ridsdale, 
who had come up in time to hear those parting 
words. 

“ Perhaps because he thinks I need one,” re- 
plied Alison, with a quick laugh. “ There are plenty 
of heathen left in Christendom, I suppose.” 

“ So I have heard. But George seems to me a 
funny apostle. Still, things are not always what 
they seem. Ah ! here is dear Lady Merrivale, 
wishing her guests would go home with all her 
heart.” 

“ I should like to shake my Paris gown and shoo 
you all out this very minute,” confessed her lady- 


A WEDDING 


237 


ship, “ for the tune of that tiresome hymn and the 
smell of this stuffy bouquet have both got into my 
head till I want to go and take it off, and have a nice 
long rest before the opera to-night. I wish we could 
take off our heads every now and then, it would be 
such a relief. ,, 

“ Some of us solve the difficulty by carrying 
them empty,” replied Herbert Ridsdale. 

“ I can’t laugh at anybody’s jokes for at least 
twenty-four hours,” she continued, “ my cheeks are 
so stiff with smiling all day that they, too, must have 
a rest. Oh ! you dear man, are you really going ? 
How sweet of you ! Do take a friend or two with 
you, and come and see me on Sunday afternoon to 
talk it all over.” 

“ You will stay with me for a little, won’t you, 
Alison dear? ” she begged the girl, as they sat alone 
drinking tea in the boudoir. “ I shall be so lonely 
without Petronel.” 

“ I must be going home soon ; they will want 

me. 

“ My dear, that is nonsense. What on earth is 
there to want you for down there? And besides, I 
shall be dull without a daughter. Do stay with me 
just till the end of the season. It is only for a few 
weeks.” 

Alison hesitated. There was much in London 
she would like to see, and it did seem rather unkind 
to refuse Lady Merrivale just then. So a letter was 
written consulting Mrs. Garland, and when the old 
lady’s peremptory command came by return that 


238 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Alison was to avail herself of this splendid oppor- 
tunity to see something of the world, the girl de- 
cided to enjoy it while it lasted, and make the most 
of all there was to see and learn and know and do 
up there. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 

Alison and her hostess were sitting in state 
waiting for the stream of callers to begin to pour in, 
for it was Lady Merrivale’s afternoon at home. 

“ I have been thinking over my plans,” began 
her ladyship, “ and the first thing I have to do now 
is to marry you well, my dear.” 

“ You are mistaken there, I am afraid,” ex- 
claimed Alison quickly, “ for nothing would induce 
me to be hawked round as one of the season’s wares. 
I will play at all the other games you like to sug- 
gest, but I can’t think of love as one of them.” 

“ I suppose you are old-fashioned enough to im- 
agine that marriages are made in heaven even in 
these enlightened days ? ” laughed Lady Merrivale. 

“ I think that if Providence has to arrange the 
first and last column in the Times, the middle one 
surely can be similarly managed,” replied Alison, 
with spirit. 

“ But I do so adore match-making ! ” with a 
sigh. 

“ Well, then, you must get another girl for whom 
to match-make. I am sorry to appear disobliging, 


239 


240 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


but one can’t marry just for the sake of good man- 
ners,*’ said Alison, smiling. 

“ I know what I will do ! ” exclaimed her lady- 
ship, with sudden delight. “ I will invite Sylvia 
Desmond to come and spend a week or two with us. 
She is a very nice girl, with no principles and lots of 
brains. And she is clever enough not to show she is 
clever, which so few girls are.” 

“ I don’t see what is the good of being clever if 
the only thing you can do with it is to hide it ! ” re- 
marked Alison. 

“ Good gracious, child ! I wonder what you will 
say next? Of course it is all the good in the world. 
Men hate clever girls for being clever, and stupid 
ones still more for being stupid ; so the only thing is 
to be clever and to seem stupid, and then every one 
adores you.” 

“ But I should hate people to adore me for what 
I was not,” persisted Alison ; “ it would be like 
cheating.” 

“ My dear girl, life is one colossal cheat, and 
the sooner you learn the rules of the game the 
better.” 

“ Oh, no, Lady Merrivale ! I am not going to 
believe that — any more than you do really. There 
is a lot of masquerading, I know, but it deceives no- 
body, and so it is only like huge, private theatricals 
after all. But nearly every one, when you get to 
know them below the surface, is better and nicer 
and truer than you thought.” 

“ I have met with exceptions to that rule,” ob- 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


241 

served the lady dryly. “ You are fortunate if you 
have not.” 

“ I said nearly every one,” repeated Alison, “ and 
I mean it. For though my experience is such a little 
piece, it is, after all, a piece of the whole, and so 
the component parts are the same as if it were 
much bigger.” 

“ I shall get a headache if you begin talking 
about component parts, my dear. It is almost as 
bad as environment.” 

Alison laughed. 

“ Let us have Sylvia Desmond to stay. I should 
like to meet a girl you think so clever, and whom 
society adores.” 

“ She is frightfully amusing, too,” continued 
Lady Merrivale, “ and the very essence of up-to- 
dateness. I always wanted Petronel to copy her, for 
she is just the daughter I should have chosen ; only 
it did not really matter, because Petronel played off 
her beauty, and she could not have married better 
even if she had been as clever as Sylvia. Perhaps 
not so well, for Conway would have been so over- 
powered by much in the way of brains.” 

“ It was much better for Petronel to be herself 
and not copy any one,” said Alison. “ I don’t think 
it matters what type a person is, if only they will be 
perfect of that type, and not a shoddy imitation of 
somebody else’s.” 

“ Very likely that is so. You have learned a 
thing or two, my dear, in spite of that baby face of 
yours. Good gracious! There goes the front-door 


242 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


bell, and we shall not have another moment’s peace 
for hours. I could never have managed to be at 
home if you had not stayed to help me. I do hope 
the tea is not any nastier than usual. How do you 
do, Lady Garman ? So sweet of you to come on my 
day!” 

Then up came other callers, and so on without 
any cessation till there was barely time to dress for 
dinner. 

“ What would not I give for curly hair ! ” sighed 
Lady Merrivale, “ for think of the hours it would 
save me of spirit lamps and curling tongs. And 
there is our scullery-maid with a halo of crisp little 
curls which would be priceless to me and are no 
good to her at all — and the hotter she gets the more 
her hair curls. Truly the ways of Providence are 
past finding out.” 

When Sylvia Desmond came to stay, she was a 
liberal education to Alison. She was extremely 
pretty in a dainty Parisian way, and she was also, as 
Lady Merrivale had said, extremely up-to-date, and 
considered her cigarette as the hall-mark of her 
modern femininity. 

“ Were you ever in love? ” she asked Alison one 
morning. 

Alison caught her breath : she did not like to see 
fools rushing into those holy places where her angel 
feet had as yet feared to tread. She was still very 
old-fashioned in her beliefs, and the more she saw 
of society life, the more she hoped she might always 
continue to be so. The simple, beautiful truths her 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


243 


mother had taught her were stronger and more 
sacred than ever. For so do the first dear lessons 
of childhood, learned from our mother’s lips, grow 
with our growth, and strengthen with our strength, 
till, as men and women, we are sheltered by the shade 
of some great tree, and find, perhaps to our amaze- 
ment, that it has sprung from the seed planted by 
those loving hands which ministered to us so long 
ago. 

“ Oh, no ! ” she replied ; “ but if I had been I 
should not talk of it, you know.” 

“ How queer ! ” exclaimed Sylvia. “ I have been 
scores of times. It is the only thing that a woman 
has to amuse herself with now that pigeon-shooting 
has gone out.” 

“ That is nonsense,” interrupted Alison. 
“ There never was a time when women had so many 
amusements as now. Look at all the out-of-door 
life to begin with.” 

“ If you call it amusement to get boiled with 
heat and your clothes messed and your hair out of 
curl, which most of your out-of-door amusements 
entail, I can’t agree with you.” And Sylvia blew 
rings of smoke through her delicate Grecian nose, 
and looked with half-closed eyes at her companion. 
“I was having tea at the Mexican Legation the other 
day, and the Minister’s daughter agreed with you. 
She said that girls in Mexico have nothing else to 
do except go to Mass and get married, but English 
girls have other amusements. She rather envied us, 
I think.” 


244 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

“ But being in love is not just an amusement,” 
interrupted Alison. “ It is something too sacred 
and solemn and beautiful even to talk about to most 
people.” 

“ Not it ! ” observed Sylvia scornfully. “ It is 
the best game in the world, and nothing more ; and 
it is simply idiotic to pretend it is anything else. If 
you do, you will get your fingers burned and your 
forehead lined and your fringe grizzled, and serve 
you right ! ” 

“ I don't believe you have ever been in love in 
the real sense of the word ? ” queried Alison, smiling. 

“ Haven’t I, though ? I have felt lumps in my 
throat and thrills down my back and steam-engines 
in my left side ; and if that isn’t love, I should like 
to know what is ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you, I am afraid ; for I only know 
what love is not — until I know what it is, I suppose. 
And you won’t teach me that. But I believe that it 
is something more than what you say.” 

“ It isn’t, I can assure you — from one who 
knows. And if you go on expecting that it is, you 
will be disappointed; and if you are disappointed 
you will look as if you were disappointed ; and that 
is most frightfully unbecoming. Besides it is silly 
to make disappointments for yourself. It is like 
the people who make bereavements for themselves.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” asked Alison. 

“ Don’t you know the people who adore little 
dogs and love them much better than all their rela- 
tions, and then when the little dogs die, which they 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


245 


have to do in a few years at most, there is as much 
weeping and grieving and mourning as if they had 
lost their nearest and dearest ? ” 

Alison nodded. 

“ So don’t you be as silly in the manufacture of 
disappointments. The world generally proves quite 
generous enough in that direction. And a woman 
who is disappointed is a woman with a story; and 
a woman with a story has quite gone out of fashion.” 

“ Has she?” 

“ Rather ! Now a woman with a past is a differ- 
ent thing,” continued Sylvia. “ It is awfully chic to 
have a past. I am not sure that I wont have one 
myself when I am a little older. But it is not at all 
chic to have a story.” 

“ What is the difference ? ” Alison wanted to 
know. 

Sylvia pondered for a moment, poising her cig- 
arette between her slender, rose-tipped fingers. 

“ It is rather difficult to define ; but I should say 
that a woman with a story is a woman who has 
bowled while the man batted ; but a woman with a 
past has batted while the man bowled. And it is 
only the batters who score in the game of life, you 
know, and only those who are ‘ in ’ who have a 
good time ! ” 

Alison tossed her head like some impatient horse 
who has to stand still at Hyde Park corner on a 
bright, crowded afternoon, when his instinct is to be 
galloping over an open country with the breath of 
the fresh wind in his nostrils. 


246 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I don’t believe that you have ever been in 
love,” she repeated, “ or that you know anything in 
the world about it really.” 

“ Don’t I, though, my dear Miss Royse ? I have 
been in love scores and scores of times. In fact, 

I am in love now, though I cannot for the life of 
me remember for the moment who with.” 

“ Oh ! then, I beg your pardon,” interposed Ali- 
son, with a touch of derision, “ I see I was mistaken. 
Do let me benefit from your profound experience.” 

“ For the future,” Sylvia went on, “ I shall really 
have to put a book-marker in my feelings to show 
how far I have got and whereabouts I am. It is so 
tiresome to be in love with somebody, and to forget 
who it is ! ” 

“ One can’t be expected to remember details in 
this crowded London life.” 

Sylvia took no notice of the interruption. “ Now 
of all the men who are in love with me at present, 
the most devoted is Bertie Ridsdale. It must be the 
real thing in his case, because it has lasted for quite 
six months. Even yet he keeps all the flowers that 
I have given him. He showed them to me the other 
day ; they looked just like the dried mint that you 
put in pea-soup — don’t you know ? — to make it even 
nastier than it is by nature. I always wonder why 
people take so much trouble to make nasty things 
still nastier; such as taking sweet sauce with veni- 
son, and trimming up old dresses, and living with* 
their own relations.” 

“ Nastiness seems fashionable,” said Alison. 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


247 


“ Lady Merrivale went to order something at Gun- 
ter’s the other day ; when they described the savoury, 
she said that it sounded very nasty, and with much 
reproach she was informed that of course it was 
nasty or no gentleman would take it.” 

“ And was it ? ” 

“ Extremely. I could not resist sampling it at 
the party, and it tasted something between a bath- 
ing-machine and a sneeze.” 

“ Oh, I know exactly ! ” and Sylvia laughed a 
thin, silvery laugh. “ I believe chefs use a good deal 
of old rope and tar - and sea- water nowadays.” 

“ And lots of paper and gravy for the entrees.” 

“ But to return to Bertie Ridsdale,” Sylvia con- 
tinued, “ you can’t think how dear and devoted 
he is!” 

“ Are you going to marry him ? ” Alison 
wanted to know. 

“ No; he has not enough money to be married. 
He is sweet to make love with ; but he will have to 
be sacrificed in the end — like a pig that you know 
will have to be killed at Christmas, whether it is a 
white pig or whether it is a black one. Even if you 
make a pet of it, it will still have to be killed.” 

Alison’s eyes flashed. 

“ How horrid ! I hate to hear you say such 
things ! ” 

Sylvia knocked the ash off the end of her cigar- 
ette, while she laughed softly. 

“ You really are green. You talk as if men were 
human beings, instead of being either nasty and 


248 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


possible husbands, or else nice and impossible 
lovers.” 

“ I dare say I am,” said Alison impetuously, 
“ and I thank heaven for it, if being green means 
still believing in things and people. I like jokes 
and fun as much as you do, and laughing at what is 
really amusing. But I can’t see the charm of cheap- 
ening what is of real value just for the sake of show- 
ing a gay and gaudy shop-window.” 

“ Everybody does,” continued Sylvia. “ It is the 
correct thing.” 

“ It seems to me,” continued Alison, “ that it is 
the exact opposite of the policy one pursues at a 
bazaar. Then you put an enormous price on 
quite ordinary things because a friend has sent 
them. But society makes a thing of no value at all 
if it happens to be given by a friend.” 

“ Because you can always get plenty more, you 
see. Friendship, or rather love, for that is 
what we are discussing, is like a shop at which 
we have a bill — unlimited things can be put down 
in it.” 

“ And when the bill is sent in ? ” suggested 
Alison. 

“ Oh, it never is ! What a bourgeois idea. Be- 
sides, it is an advertisement for them, poor things, 
if we will wear their goods for a time, and they ought 
to be very grateful to us.” 

“ Well, I don’t suppose we shall ever agree,” and 
Alison’s eyes smiled. “ But that is no reason why 
we should quarrel.” 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


249 

“ It is much too hot,” agreed Sylvia ; “ how sen- 
sible of you ! ” 

A few days after this Lady Merrivale took the 
two girls for a drive in the Park. Alison watched 
the interminable procession of carriages with a tired 
wonder. She was growing rather homesick in the 
midst of this gay world, and Sylvia's coming had 
made her more so. For Alison felt unhappy in an 
atmosphere of selfishness and lovelessness; and the 
girl's bitter comments on the hollowness of life 
made her long unutterably for the dear, west coun- 
try where she felt so safe and happy, and believed 
so implicitly in the beauty of both this world and 
the next. But Sylvia Desmond was in her element : 
she nodded to this carriage, and waved her hand to 
that, and made remarks about the other, looking 
like some alert, gay, little bird who has never known 
what weariness means. Still, had she been left to 
the company of the buttercups and daisies at Barns- 
combe, with no conversation to listen to save the 
mysterious murmuring of the waves, which only tell 
their secrets to those who have ears to hear them, 
she would have known what weariness meant as 
well as Alison knew it now. 

“ I wish you would sit by Lady Merrivale,” Ali- 
son had said to Sylvia at starting, when the inevi- 
table demur about taking the front seat occurred. 

“ Not I : I had rather sit on the market-side, 
thank you ; it makes me seem so much younger. I 
am two years older than you in fact and two hun- 
dred older in experience ; but as long as I look as 
17 


250 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


young, what does it matter ? Men work out 
women’s ages by faces, you know, not by figures, 
as they do other sums.” 

“ What do you mean by the market-side ? ” Ali- 
son wondered. 

“ Oh ! did you never hear that expression ? It 
means the side of the carriage where the marketable 
goods are exposed for sale. The married ladies sit 
with their faces to the horses, and those who want 
to be married with their backs to the horses ; which 
means, I suppose, that we don’t know which way 
we are going, nor where it will land us.” 

Lady Merrivale laughed. 

“ My dear Syllie, how killing you are ! I never 
meet any one who amuses me as much as you do.” 

Sylvia bowed her pretty head in acknowledg- 
ment of the compliment; it was her role to amuse, 
and people always like to be congratulated on their 
successful performance of that part which they have 
cast for themselves to play. 

“ Look, there is the Dowager Lady Crowbar ! ” 
she exclaimed, “ in a bonnet ablaze with poppies ! 
Doesn’t she look just like a very old village church 
decorated for a harvest festival ? Oh ! and there is 
Mrs. Wentworth, sitting in the shadow of her own 
nose as usual. It must be like a perpetual parasol 
in hot weather, or a chronic awning.” 

“ How absurdly you talk, dear child ! ” said Lady 
Merrivale appreciatively. 

“ And there is Jennie Armitage,” the girl rattled 
on, “ in an elegant frock of fawn grass-cloth 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 25 I 

trimmed with red, just as if she had been erected for 
the school board by the London County Council. 
What are we pulling up for?” as the carriage sud- 
denly stopped and the horses were drawn back on 
their haunches. 

“ That is the best thing in the Park,” exclaimed 
Alison, with a sparkle in her eyes, as she noted the 
reason of the policeman's outstretched hand, which 
kept back the proud procession of horses and car- 
riages. A tiny, ragged girl was wheeling a bat- 
tered perambulator, in which sat a wizened old-faced 
baby, and a little bare-footed boy was clinging to her 
tattered skirt. A pitiful and typical group of the 
great crowd of London slum children, who are old 
men and women almost before they have learned to 
stand on their weak little legs. They were crossing 
over from Knightsbridge and wanted to reach the 
grass on the other side of the drive. And in the 
great capital of the greatest Empire in the world, 
the arm of the law was held up in the face of rank 
and strength and riches to help three tiny ragged 
wayfarers to walk safely along their appointed path. 
Alison felt a thrill run through her and a ridicu- 
lous lump in her throat at the sight, and all that 
it meant. 

“ How tiresome these beggars are ! ” exclaimed 
Sylvia impatiently. “ They ought not to be allowed 
in the Park at all. I dare say they bring no end of 
infection, which we are exposed to afterwards.” 

Alison was silent. She felt a sudden pity for the 
stylish, popular, smart girl opposite to her — the pity 


252 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

that we feel for some blind person on a day of 
glorious colour, light and shade. 

“ It must be so dreadful/' thought Alison, “ only 
to see people’s hats and frocks and horses and car- 
riages, when there is so much else to see. I shall 
tell Dr. Cary all about this — I know just how it will 
appeal to him ! ” 

Alison kept a cupboard in her mind and mem- 
ory stored with the things she wanted to tell Jim 
Cary, and she enjoyed every fresh addition in look- 
ing forward to the pleasure of taking it out again 
with him. 

“ Let us draw up under the trees,” Sylvia was 
saying, “ it would be so much cooler.” 

She had caught sight of a group of men she 
knew, on the chairs not far from Hyde Park Corner, 
and among them Alison recognised her old friend, 
Claud Curtis. They instantly came up to the car- 
riage and began to talk. 

“ What ! you here ? ” exclaimed Claud, his face 
alight with pleasant surprise. “ This is an unex- 
pected joy.” 

“ I have been with Lady Merrivale for a month,” 
said Alison rather coldly. 

She had grown a good deal since Claud gave her 
sketching lessons, and she was consequently better 
able to take care of herself. 

“ I must have a talk with you,” he whispered, as 
Lady Merrivale and Sylvia were chatting to Herbert 
Ridsdale and Sammy Head. “ I have so much to 
say.” 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 253 

“ Have you had tea?” Sammy was asking the 
others. 

“ No,” replied Sylvia, “ all the people we have 
called on have been out. Of course we were glad 
not to find them at home, but we should have liked 
some tea. I do wish it was the custom, if the family 
are not at home, to invite the visitors to join the 
servants’ hall or the housekeeper’s-room tea-party. 
I am sure the conversation would be quite as good 
as it is in the drawing-room, and the tea infinitely 
better.” 

Sammy nodded. 

“ Well, then, come and have tea in Kensington 
Gardens,” he said, in his drawling way. “ I will 
entertain the whole party, these two coves as well, 
and if you are good you shall have buns.” 

Sylvia clapped her hands. 

“ I should love it,” she said ; “ food eaten out of 
doors always tastes young and wholesome, and 
makes you feel good.” 

“ Buns make me feel too good for this world,” 
said Sammy. “ Not just at the time, but afterwards, 
don’t you know ? ” 

“ And how do buns make you feel ? ” asked Mr. 
Ridsdale, looking into Alison’s clear brown eyes. 

“ Sticky,” she replied with a smile, but rather a 
far-away one, for she was thinking how dreadfully 
long ago it seemed since she had first met Herbert 
Ridsdale at the dinner-party. And the homesick- 
ness grew suddenly stronger. 

“ Sammy shall drive with us,” said Lady Mer- 


254 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


rivale, “ because he is a good boy and the host. 
You two go and get a hansom and follow. ,, 

So they pulled up before you get to the bridge, 
and joined the garden-party which goes on all the 
summer at the southeast corner of Kensington 
Gardens. And they had a merry time, for Sylvia 
and Sammy vied with each other in absurdities, and 
the others laughed at them, and put in their own 
oars when they could. 

“ I once had a breakfast-party here, ,, said Sam- 
my, “ when I was young and foolish. It made me 
two enemies for life. ,, 

“ Then you ought to have known better,” chimed 
in Sylvia, “ than to suppose friendship could sur- 
vive a breakfast-party. It is a strain even on family 
life.” 

“ It is indeed,” and Sammy spoke feelingly. 
“ My governor is always punctual and hungry, two 
terrible breakfast attributes ; and he thinks his fam- 
ily undutiful if they are not both also. I might 
manage one on alternate mornings, but both at once 
do stump a chap.” 

“ To sit opposite the window is bad enough in 
the morning,” said Lady Merrivale, “ but to be out 
of doors in the full, early light is simply suicidal.” 

“ I know,” and Sammy nodded. “ I never sit 
facing the light at breakfast ; my complexion won't 
stand it.” 

“ What is your specially becoming light? ” asked 
Sylvia ; “ mine is candles.” 

“ Moonlight,” replied Sammy seriously ; “ it does 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


255 


my pallor justice. I have a small niece who once 
saw me by moonlight, and she daren't go to sleep 
for a week. Untempered electric light is the next 
best thing for me” 

“ It is ages since I saw you," Claud interposed 
in a low voice to Alison ; and then as her face indi- 
cated no special interest, he added : “ I have been 
very ill since then — at death's door." 

“ Influenza, I suppose ? " she queried pleasantly ; 
but mere pleasantness was not what Claud wanted. 

“ Influenza and complications," he replied, in a 
hollow voice, “ many complications ! My tempera- 
ture was 103 0 ." 

“ I am afraid that conveys no idea to me," she 
said with a smile, “ for I am dreadfully ignorant 
about such things. If you had said that your tem- 
perature was thirty or a hundred and thirty, I should 
have been equally impressed." 

“ I remember every word of our talks together 
last year," he continued, as Alison failed to rise to 
the heights of sympathy he required on account of 
his late temperature. 

“ Then you have a better memory than I have," 
and she laughed in his face. “ But tell me, what are 
your pictures this year ? I looked out for some signs 
of Barnscombe at the Academy, but Lady Merri- 
vale was in a hurry and we had no catalogue, so I 
never found them." 

“ My art has suffered by my suffering, Miss 
Royse. How can one realise the great ideals of 
fancy when chained to a sick-bed ? And then I had 


256 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


to go abroad to seek my health again. It has been 
a bad year’s work for me, and such a disappoint- 
ment that the picture we planned together is still 
untouched.” 

Claud refrained from mentioning that his bad 
year’s work included several very lucrative por- 
traits, and also that the period during which the in- 
fluenza had chained him to a sick-bed was exactly 
ten days. 

The others were listening to Sylvia’s ceaseless 
comments on the occupants of all the tea-tables in 
sight. 

“ Look at those old maids in gray,” she was say- 
ing. “ Isn’t it funny that people with bad com- 
plexions invariably wear gray ? And how frightfully 
their skirts hang ! Do you know I really cannot re- 
spect a woman whose skirt hangs badly ; it always 
means that she is thoughtful and intelligent and self- 
sacrificing, and I can’t endure thoughtful, intelli- 
gent, self-sacrificing women. They lead such dull 
lives as old maids, or else become good wives and 
mothers, which is duller still.” 

“ Perhaps they only seem dull,” suggested Mr. 
Ridsdale. 

“ Old maids are such fussy creatures,” said Syl- 
via, pouring out another cup of tea ; “ always hav- 
ing their houses cleaned and things like that. Life 
to an old maid must be one interminable Saturday 
afternoon, so to speak.” 

“ Well, that is better than an interminable Sun- 4 
day morning,” Sammy chimed in. 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


257 


“ Have I offended you in anything ? ” Claud 
whispered to Alison. “ You seem to be passing me 
by somehow with only a bow of recognition. And 
we used to be such friends,” reproachfully. 

“ Of course you have not. What an absurd 
idea,” she replied indifferently. “ We are only 
out of touch because we have forgotten each 
other.” 

“ But I have not forgotten you,” sighed Claud. 
“ I have thought incessantly of you ; even in 
my delirium I said what I am sure I meant for 
Barnscombe, only the nurse did not quite catch 
it.” And for the moment Claud was really 
moved by this picture of the intensity of his de- 
votion. 

“ What is that you are saying about delirium ? ” 
interrupted Sammy. “ It is an awfully interesting 
thing, I have always heard, for chaps reveal the 
secrets of their hearts and talk of girls you never 
knew they were even gone on. My brother was once 
delirious and he kept raving for a little girl we knew 
called Frisky Cotton — at least my mother said he 
did ; the nurse said it was whisky he was raving for, 
not Frisky. And the governor preferred that it 
should be so.” 

“ When I have a house of my own,” Sylvia said 
to Mr. Ridsdale, “ I shall never have the rooms 
cleaned at all. I think it is so tiresome and fussy, 
and the servants hide all your things so that you can 
never find them again. They do it to punish you 
for being inconsiderate enough to want them 


258 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


cleaned, I believe. I shall keep birds to pick up the 
bits off the floors.” 

“ An admirable and most cleanly arrangement,” 
murmured Mr. Ridsdale. 

“ Oh, look at that old lady crossing the road ! ” 
cried Sylvia suddenly ; “ and the height she is hold- 
ing up her dress because the roads are quite clean.” 

“ Glimpses of the invisible are revealed to me,” 
observed Sammy. 

“ Isn’t it funny how the older a lady is the higher 
she holds up her dress ? ” continued Sylvia. “ I 
have often noticed it.” 

“ It is a good job, then, that this one isn’t any 
older,” drawled the cricketer. 

“ People are frightfully amusing to watch,” Syl- 
via rattled on. “ I wish we could play some game 
here ; but we can’t, because it is London. The last 
time we went to the sea a lot of us sat on the pier 
and stuck a clean new postage stamp on to the 
ground, and then waited and watched. It was kill- 
ing ! The British instinct could not pass by so price- 
less a thing as a new postage stamp without a dive 
after the treasure.” 

“ Did any one scratch it up ? ” asked Lady Mer- 
rivale. 

“ Some one always did. One stuck specially 
fast, I remember ; but a girl flew at it and scratched 
like a rabbit, with furtive glances round to make 
sure no one could see her.” 

“ Which of course they could not, seeing she 
was bent double in the middle of a pier on a sunny 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


259 

morning,” Sammy chimed in. “ An ostrich, I be- 
lieve, has a similar belief. ,, 

“ Here come two nuns ! ” exclaimed Sylvia, 
whose quick eyes were roving round like some hun- 
gry hawk’s seeking for food with which to satisfy 
her wit. “ Don’t they look like beetles ? I should 
hate to be a nun.” 

“ I don’t think the part would suit you, some- 
how,” said Sammy slowly, “ but I may be mis- 
taken.” 

“ Now, children, I must be going,” and Lady 
Merrivale broke up the party. “We have all en- 
joyed ourselves immensely, Sammy, and will return 
thanks to you instead of Providence on this occa- 
sion.” 

“ I am going to walk home,” said Sylvia, with a 
glance at Herbert Ridsdale. 

“ Then may I come with you ? ” he asked 
promptly, and they strolled off together. 

“ Won’t you walk, too? ” Claud begged Alison. 
“ I have so much to say to you, and cruel chance 
and circumstances seem determined to keep us 
apart.” 

“ No, thank you. I am tired,” said Alison, fol- 
lowing Lady Merrivale to the carriage. 

“ You don’t know how miserable you have made 
me,” he sighed as she stepped in. 

And he nursed his misery for as long as the ba- 
rouche was in sight, and Alison’s little brown head 
and waving feathers were so daintily outlined 
against the clear blue of the sky. Then the car- 


26 o 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


riage turned into the Mile and was lost among the 
others, and Claud hailed a hansom. 

“ She does not realise/' he murmured to himself, 
“ that I left her because I loved her. Few men 
would have so considered her interest. It is hard to 
be misjudged, but it has ever been the lot of those 
of whom the world was not worthy ! ” 

“ Isn't that Royse girl pretty ? " Sylvia asked her 
companion, as they walked together over the grass. 

“ Awfully. And in such an original way of her 
own. She has the air and carriage of a duchess, and 
the little, fresh, sweet face of a country child." 

“ She is a nice girl, too," continued Sylvia. 
“ The sort of girl that makes you think of trees, and 
flowers, and hymns, and peaceful, soothing things 
like that." 

The man sighed. 

“ She does. She is the sort of girl that makes 
you remember all that you once meant to be, and to 
recognise how far you have travelled in the opposite 
direction." 

Sylvia looked up at him through her long eye- 
lashes. 

“ You seem to admire her," she remarked. 

“I do ; almost more than any girl I have ever 
seen." 

“ How nice of you ! I didn't know you had such 
good taste." 

“ You misjudged me, you see," he observed, 
swinging his walking-stick round and round. 
“ Even if one is not a rose oneself, one is capable of 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


26l 


feeling all the better for being near the rose, and 
learning how sweet it is.” 

“ I wonder you don’t settle down and marry a 
nice, domestic, country girl like Alison,” said Sylvia 
sweetly. 

“ For the very good reason that a nice, domestic, 
country girl wouldn’t have me.” 

“ You can’t tell. Nobody knows what a fool 
a woman will make of herself till she has the 
chance.” 

“ There is a limit even to the folly of women.” 

“ She would make you very happy,” continued 
Sylvia. “ She would read aloud the Bible and 
Blackwood to you, and she might even know how 
to darn your stockings. You would like all that 
sort of thing.” 

“ Perhaps I should,” dryly. 

“ You would find it so restful.” Sylvia’s delicate 
nostrils were a little dilated as if she scented a battle 
from afar. 

“ That also is possible. Even men sometimes 
are tired.” 

“ And she would believe in you — she actually 
does in lots of people — and obey you, and consider 
you an ideal hero. You would adore that kind of 
thing.” 

“ No, I should not. Again you misjudge me ; I 
am not an utter scoundrel though I may appear to 
be one.” 

“ She would think that you were a sort of Lie- 
big’s Extract of King Arthur, flavoured with Bay- 


262 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


ard, and served with sauce a la Francis of Assisi/' 
Sylvia went on mockingly. 

“ Oh, dear, no, she would not ! Now you are 
misjudging her." 

“ Why wouldn't she ? " 

“ Because, as I remarked before, there is a limit 
to the folly of woman." 

“ You had better go and make love to a girl of 
that kind," said Sylvia, nodding her head wisely; 
“ it would be by far the most sensible thing you 
could do." 

“ There I certainly agree with you." 

“ Then that is settled, my dear Bertie." 

“ Pardon me, it is nothing of the kind." 

Sylvia raised her pencilled eyebrows. 

“ Why not ? Surely you want to do the best for 
yourself? " 

“ But I don't. I want to do the worst for my- 
self," he replied, and the girl was surprised at the 
emotion in his voice. 

It was not the fashion to feel things — or at any 
rate to show that you felt them — in Sylvia’s set ; but 
Herbert Ridsdale was not the first man who has 
had his better nature roused by one woman only to 
waste it on another. 

“ Don't you want to make love to a really nice 
girl who will admire you and respect you, and make 
you feel happy ? " 

“ No, I don't. I want to make love to a heartless 
little flirt, who will gibe at me, and jeer at me, and 
throw me over for a richer man in the end, and 


THE REST OF THE SEASON 


263 


make me feel utterly miserable. But I don’t care 
if she wipes her shoes on me or tramples me in the 
dust, if only she will let me go on worshipping her.” 

Sylvia laughed that careless laugh of hers. 

“ Well, you are an old goose, Bertie ! I wouldn’t 
have believed it of you. Do you mean to say that 
you like this horrid girl better than all the nice 
ones f ” 

“Yes.” 

“ But why?” 

Herbert Ridsdale shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Because there is no limit to the folly of man.” 


CHAPTER XII 


HOME AGAIN 

It was Alison’s second coming home to Barns- 
combe. 

The season with all its dust and glare and heat 
was over, and there was the used-up feeling about 
everything and everybody which so surely comes in 
town with the end of July. The girl pined for the 
fresh air and out-of-door life from which she had 
been shut out for two long months, and still more 
for the sweet, homely atmosphere of the Old House, 
and the sympathy and understanding of — she was 
going to say “ Grannie and Aunt 'Vinnie,” but 
something stopped her. And when she searched 
down into her feelings for what was the truth, she 
knew that it was the sympathy and understanding 
of Dr. Cary’s friendship that she missed so sorely 
and wanted so much. No schoolgirl ever looked 
forward to the holidays with more delight and ex- 
citement than she did, and it was with positive joy 
that she packed up all her finery and left out the 
simple blue serge and sailor hat which she so often 
wore at home. We all understand the immense dif- 
ference there is between going back to a place we 
264 


HOME AGAIN 


265 


know, and going to it for the first time. The tender 
touch of association turns wayside pictures into the 
illustrations of our own life’s story, and peoples the 
empty places with the dear presences of those we 
love. And even when the shadow falls across the old 
familiar scene, and memories of summer are the only 
autumn flowers we can find, yet our own gardens 
will be different from all other gardens, however fair, 
and will always be set apart for us as holy ground, 
until we, too, are transplanted into our true home 
country, where the old associations still await us, and 
will be the first flowers that with great joy we find. 

Alison sat at the carriage window drinking in 
great gulps of the sweet, fresh air, and thinking how 
good it was to be going home. And as the train ran 
over the river’s bridge through one of the quaint 
old North Devon towns, her heart beat faster, and a 
smile of expectation shone in her eyes and curved 
her lips. She could see now the winding, white line 
which was the high road along which she had so 
often walked ; clumps of trees under which she had 
sheltered during a passing shower; cottages whose 
inmates she knew as neighbours. There is always 
a fascination in tracing our movements from quite 
a different standpoint — looking out from the train 
for places where we have once been on foot — see- 
ing for a moment the little gate which was so high 
and big when we stood beside it to watch the ex- 
press rush past. And Alison felt all this, and some- 
thing much more, as the familiar landmarks flashed 
by, and she knew that Barnscombe was very near. 

18 


266 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


The tall, gray tower of the church up on the 
hill looked like the figure of a friend, and in the far 
distance on the other side lay a silver streak which 
was the sea she loved so well. The train slackened 
and stopped; and it seemed an intrusion for such 
a big, noisy, steaming thing to be in that little 
wayside station, where the platform is a flower-gar- 
den and the roof big boughs of the trees. And there 
was Lavinia in a new cambric gown, and Grannie in 
her best bonnet and white shawl, and Jim Cary with 
a flower in his button-hole, all come to welcome 
Alison back again. 

“ You have grown, my dear, I do declare,” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Garland, as they turned to walk home- 
wards. 

Jim Cary saw in an instant that Alison was look- 
ing pale and tired and thin, and deep down in his 
heart he was glad that she was neither so well nor 
so happy in the gay London world as she was in 
the peaceful country one at Barnscombe. He had 
looked forward to her home-coming with such 
mixed feelings ; gladness at the thought of seeing 
her again, and fear lest she should have outgrown 
the old friendships, and be more of a fine, fashionable 
lady than the girl who was growing so dear to him. 
No one who saw him standing at the station with 
that easy, graceful air, talking in his pleasant way 
to Mrs. Garland and Lavinia, could have guessed 
the tumult of his feelings underneath. He was an 
impossible man to read, and he always appeared 
master both of himself and of the situation. But he 


HOME AGAIN 


267 


was not master of that aching anxiety which had 
begun to rack him since he imagined that Alison 
would bring home with her a love story, and so 
things would never be the same again. There was 
nothing to be seen in his manner but a friendly 
greeting as he clasped her hand; but there was a 
catch in his throat and a wild gladness in his heart at 
the sight of her small, white face, which told him a 
sad little story of homesickness — the best story in 
the world that he could hear. 

“ It is like Heaven to come home,” said the 
girl softly ; “ I was growing so tired of being at 
school.” 

“ At school, my dear?” exclaimed Lavinia; “ I 
do not understand you. You have not been at 
school, but enjoying a London season and all its 
delights.” 

“ It is rather like school, Aunt Vinnie, and a 
school with a dreadfully modern side. I was not a 
bit a clever girl in it.” 

“ Cleverness does not seem to me quite a wom- 
anly quality,” said Lavinia, “ though, perhaps, it is 
ignorant to say so.” 

“ There are plenty of different kinds of clever- 
ness,” explained the doctor, “ and we must make the 
best of what we have, without bothering our heads 
about whether it is manly or womanly.” 

“ I suppose the God who made us men and 
women knows best with what qualities to endow us 
without our criticisms and advice,” chimed in Mrs. 
Garland. 


268 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ How much you’ll have to tell us,” continued 
Lavinia, “ of all your experiences.” 

Jim Cary felt a sudden chill. Perhaps there were 
experiences after all. 

“ I have heaps of surface things to tell,” replied 
Alison ; “ but I am tired of surfaces and show and 
smartness. I have learned a good many things up 
there, but the best is how dear my home is here.” 

“ I am very pleased to hear you say so,” re- 
marked her grandmother, “ for I have known girls 
very dissatisfied with their homes after visiting 
richer and more fashionable folk, and full of com- 
plaints of everything that is simple and homely. 
Give them a powder and send them to bed is my 
advice with the girls as well as the children. I al- 
ways acted that way with your mother and Lavinia 
when they were small and had been to a party, and 
it soon put a stop to the grumbles.” 

“ I feel as if I should never leave off smelling 
the sweetness of this country air,” exclaimed Ali- 
son, holding up her head to draw it in. 

“ We must not linger on our way,” interposed 
Lavinia, “ or the ham and eggs will be overdone.” 

“ Do you really mean it is like Heaven to come 
home? ” Jim Cary asked the girl, in a low voice, as 
they went up the garden path. 

“ I do. The best imitation of it that we can get 
down here.” 

“ And you haven’t grown a little tired of old 
friends?” 

“ No, but very tired of new acquaintances.” 


HOME AGAIN 


269 


“ And — and you are not different, are you ? ” 
and in his voice was a pleading cadence. 

“ I don’t think so,” answered Alison simply, 
“ except perhaps that I want you all so much 
more.” 

“ It is like Heaven to have you back,” he said 
earnestly. 

And Alison felt a warm glow of gladness rush 
through her whole being. She realised then for the 
first time how good it was to have Jim Cary at her 
side, and how much better still it was that he should 
want her so. 

“ And is London very dreadfully dazzling and 
wicked ? ” asked Lavinia, in an awe-stricken voice 
from behind the tea-pot. 

“*Not that I saw,” explained her niece. “ It is 
gay and smart and bright, and in some sets brilliant, 
too; and there are many expensive luxuries and 
cheap ideas, but it seems to me that people are very 
much the same everywhere. Little Sally Benbow at 
the harvest-home supper here is just as empty- 
headed and frivolous as some of the girls at the 
State balls — and it is pretty much the same thing to 
keep company on one’s Sunday-out with not al- 
ways the same swain, as to flirt with a lot of men at 
once as Sylvia Desmond does.” 

“ I always thought a London ball must be so 
very wicked,” observed Lavinia. 

“ It is very hot and crowded and tiring,” 
laughed Alison ; “ but I never found out that it was 
wicked at all.” 


270 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


^ Dear me, how strange ! ” And Lavinia’s pale 
blue eyes were opened wide in astonishment. 

“ You are very silent to-night, James,” remarked 
Mrs. Garland. 

“ I am listening,” he replied, with a smile of 
pure happiness. 

“ You are not feeling ill, I do trust? ” chimed in 
Lavinia anxiously. 

“ 111 ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “ I should think 
not! Where are your wits, Lavinia, to imagine 
such an absurdity? I have never felt ill in my 
life.” 

“ But, James,” she continued, “ that is no rea- 
son. Our turn must come, and the passing of time 
only brings it nearer to each one.” 

Jim Cary frowned slightly, till Alison broke in : 

“ Oh, Aunt Vinnie, how doleful you are ! And, 
besides, some people never are ill, so it is no use 
your prophesying illness to such strong people as 
we are.” 

And the introduction of the pronoun “ we ” 
made Jim feel as if he never could be ill or vexed in 
such a beautiful world. 

“ You do not look over strong, my dear, just 
now,” said her grandmother. “ So thin and pale. I 
shall make James doctor you up a bit.” 

“ Oh, I am all right, Grannie ! And I shall soon 
get a colour again down here.” 

“ I will look after her, Mrs. Garland,” said the 
doctor, with a glad ring in his voice. 

And Alison felt she should like to be looked after 


HOME AGAIN 


271 


by Jim Cary. She had stood by herself for such a 
long while now, and she was very tired. 

“ What kind of things do people in London talk 
about ? ” asked Lavinia, who felt that Alison had 
become a kind of modern encyclopaedia. 

“ Themselves and each other. Especially each 
other, Aunt Vinnie, just as they do in the country. 
And they talk a lot of clever nonsense, and a little 
clever sense. And the clever folk talk cleverly about 
everything/’ 

“ And the stupid people stupidly about every- 
thing, I suppose,” interposed Mrs. Garland. 

“ No,” said Alison thoughtfully, “ I think the 
difference between London and the country comes 
in there. The stupid people are taught somehow to 
catch on, and so hide their stupidity. They learn 
their part even if they are not clever enough to com- 
pose it. You see there is no sitting still mentally in 
London, and so less danger of going to sleep.” 

“ So, though clever people will be clever wher- 
ever they are,” added Dr. Cary, “ stupid ones will 
be less stupid in town.” 

Alison nodded. 

“ It is one gigantic system of cram for those 
who haven’t brains enough to pass without it; but 
it does prevent stupidity all the same. Even the 
sheep in Kensington Gardens are not stupid. They 
have sad, worn faces, and cough like Christians, but 
they are not half as stupid as the country ones. 
They don’t rush away in a frightened herd when an 
inoffensive old lady walks by, as they would in a 


272 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


field, or expect people in bath chairs to hunt them. 
I used to admire the sense with which they would 
gauge a person's character before they deemed it 
necessary to stroll out of the way." 

“ But did not you get to know any wicked peo- 
ple at all ? ” said Lavinia, with a shade of disappoint- 
ment, as they all adjourned to the garden, and sat 
under the trees in a dark patch of shade. 

“ I did not get to know many people well 
enough to find out," answered Alison, smiling. 

“ Tell me whom you did get to know well ? " said 
Jim Cary quickly. 

“And how wicked you thought they were?" 
added Lavinia. 

“ Sylvia Desmond pretended she was wicked," 
began Alison, “ but she was too young really to be 
so. It was only showing off. She wasn't a very 
nice girl, but she tried to make you think her much 
worse than she was." 

“ And who else ? " Lavinia wanted to know. 

“ A Mr. Ridsdale. He was not a bit wicked, but 
really very nice. He was my first friend up there." 

Jim's face clouded over, and he felt a sudden 
sick, sinking feeling that even the cleverest doctors 
do not know how to cure. 

“ I hope Sylvia will marry him some day," con- 
tinued Alison ; “ he is tremendously in love with 
her." 

And Jim's sickness was cured by the miracle of 
her simple statement. 

“ Then there was Sammy Head, and a Mr. 


HOME AGAIN 


273 


Lumsden, who sent many messages to you,” turning 
to Jim, “ and I saw Mr. Curtis again once, and 
Lord Conway, and loads of other people who only 
counted as chorus.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” asked Lavinia, with a 
puzzled look. 

“ They never took any solos in my piece. It is 
difficult to realise that everybody takes a leading 
part in somebody's play, isn't it? ” 

“ My dear, I do not approve of so many theatre 
expressions,” corrected her grandmother. 

“ I used to like to see the poor little shop-girls 
hurrying of! to the A.B.C. shops to meet their 
young men in the dinner-hour,” Alison went on. 
“ They were such shabby, squalid little romances, 
but romances for all that.” 

“ People ought to have the country to make love 
in,” said Jim. “ It is their right, just as spring is. 
It is sad to think of the crowded A.B.C. shops, and 
all the empty stiles and lanes.” 

“ They should start a lovers' country holiday 
fund,” suggested Alison, “ for they need it as much 
as the children.” 

“ A fortnight only costs ten shillings,” Jim re- 
minded her, with a smile. 

“ It would cost less with lovers,” she replied, 
“ for children are hungry, but lovers are riot.” 

“ And who else did you see?” asked Lavinia, 
who never liked the conversation to drift into un- 
practical channels. 

“ Oh, there were lots of kind, exhausted moth- 


274 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


ers, who were so tired of taking their daughters to 
parties; and any amount of boys — good boys and 
naughty boys, I suppose — not old enough to be 
really wicked, but young enough to think it grand 
and manly to appear so. And many hard-working 
fathers, and a few pompous old millionaires, and I 
think that is all.” 

“ We must not ask you any more questions to- 
night,” said the doctor gently. “ You ought to go 
to bed, for you are fagged out.” 

Alison smiled up at him. It was so sweet and 
restful to feel that there was some one to take care 
of her, and that she was enough of a child again 
at home to be sent to bed. But, even after she was 
upstairs, she lingered at the open window, and 
seemed as if she could not shut her tired eyes on the 
scene she loved so dearly. She knelt with her arms 
folded on the window-sill, and her head resting on 
them. Her thoughts flew back to the London 
world, which already was being pushed behind her 
into the distance of the past; for so soon does it 
become natural to us to be at home again even after 
a long absence. She wondered whether she had 
learnt the lessons which every experience in life is 
sent to teach us, and also what these particular ones 
might be. And in the hush of the summer starlight 
she felt that touch with things eternal which is so 
often forgotten in the glare and rush and chatter of 
the day’s work and play. So the chapter of her 
London season was folded up and put away with 
just that shade of sadness without which we can 


HOME AGAIN 


2/5 


never write the word “ finis ” anywhere, nor yet 
turn over a fresh, clean page of our life’s record, 
even though we may have great hopes of the story 
that will be written there. 

In a couple of days Alison felt as if she had never 
been away. The physical joy of living, which the 
country and the sea know how to kindle so quickly, 
came back to her, and brought with it the merry 
young-heartedness which is so soon stamped out in 
the society of town. The colour was burned back 
into her pale cheeks, and the tired look round her 
eyes washed completely away. She was not a bit 
changed, everybody said, but Jim Cary found a 
difference, though it was to him she had specially 
promised she would continue the same. There was 
the old Alison still that he was so fond of, but there 
was a new Alison who drew him with far stronger 
cords. Though we, in our timid dread of change, 
want things always to be the same, we find that they 
cannot really continue so. Earth so often writes 
change and decay together, that we perhaps rightly 
shrink. But there is a change in the things that 
earth cannot touch, which is always for the better — 
a change in friendship as it sinks deeper into our 
hearts; a change in love as it swells stronger and 
rises higher; a change in beauty as we see farther; 
a change in knowledge as we learn more. To this 
change we can ever look forward with gladness and 
faith, and this was the change Jim Cary found in 
his feeling for Alison — a dearer one than any which 
he had imagined possible. To both of them, how- 


276 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

ever, it was not a conscious change. They knew 
that they were ridiculously happy, and that there 
had never been so sunny a summer-time before; 
but they neither exactly knew why. It was enough 
that they were together again after so long a separa- 
tion, for friends always want to be together. They 
did not realise that feelings often grow strongly 
and quickly under the surface, and the seed 
changes to the plant long before it is visible above 
the ground. They were content thus to enjoy 
each day as it came and the wealth it brought with 
it of the things that Ruskin tells us make men 
happy. 

Such walks they had in the lanes and on the 
cliffs, through the country, and best of all down by 
the sea ! And Lavinia was often too busy to go 
with them. The long distances tired her, and she 
had so much else to do in the garden and workroom 
and pantry at home, the neglect of which distressed 
her. It was a comfort to her to know that Jim 
Cary was not also neglected, for that would have 
distressed her almost as much. And so things 
drifted on, the current flowing faster as it neared the 
whirlpool. 

“ I don't ever want to go away from home any 
more," said Alison, as she and the doctor stood one 
day at the gate looking at the view stretched out 
before them. 

“ I like to hear you say that," he answered 
quickly, “ for I was so afraid for you in London." 

“ It was very nice and amusing and interesting 


HOME AGAIN 


2 77 


and all that, you know,” she continued, “ but it was 
rather poor compared with — with looking at such a 
view as this.” 

“ This is a perfect view.” But he was only look- 
ing into her face as he spoke. 

“ It seemed so funny to me to T>e on my own 
account, and to be able to do as I liked, with nobody 
to scold me afterwards.” 

“ Whom do you mean by that nobody ? ” he 
asked, with a smile. 

“ Well, not Grannie exactly, for I never care for 
her scoldings.” 

“ Whom?” 

“ And not Aunt Vinnie or the rector.” 

“ Tell me whom?” he persisted. 

“ Perhaps I don't want to tell you.” And her 
chin went into the air. 

“ What you want is of no importance,” he re- 
plied gravely. “ You will have to tell me.” 

“ But why, Dr. Cary?” 

“ Because I want you to.” 

“ And I suppose what you want is of some, if 
not paramount, importance ? ” she queried, with a 
half smile. 

“ Exactly. So tell me now.” 

“ A person does not have their own way for two 
months without intending to go on having it,” said 
Alison slowly. “ They acquire the taste, and it is 
not an epicurean one.” 

“ The worst of having one's own way for two 
months, provided one is a little bit of girl ” 


278 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Height only five foot eight and a half,” inter- 
rupted Alison. 

“ — Is,” continued the doctor, “ that it requires a 
strong hand to readjust matters, and sometimes a 
strong hand hurts.” 

“ So I havelieard,” she remarked indifferently. 

Jim Cary bit his lips. 

“ I am waiting,” he said, “ for your answer to 
my question.” 

“ But I am not going to tell you. You should 
not be so curious, Dr. Cary ; it is bad manners.” 

“ Once upon a time,” began Jim, “ there was 
a young lady who was put in a corner ” 

“ That is a silly tale ! ” exclaimed Alison ; “ and 
ancient history, too.” 

“ — And after she was allowed to come out 
again,” he continued, “she promised to be good and 
obedient in the future ; or else ” 

“ Well, what?” asked the girl, tossing her head 
with the gesture Jim admired so much. 

“ She might have to go back there,” he added, 
“ even though she had grown into a much grander 
young lady, and had been to all the parties of the 
season.” 

“ Once upon a time,” began Alison, “ there was 
a beautiful country that had no corners, and it was 
bounded by a splendid big sea that had no corners 
either. A man lived in that country.” 

“ What kind of a man? ” asked Jim. 

“ Not a very nice one, I am sorry to say. He 
always wanted his own way, and generally had it, 


HOME AGAIN 


279 


which, of course, you will see was very bad for 
his character. And he grew so masterful at last 
that there was only one thing to be done with 
him.” 

“ And what was that ? ” There was a smile in 
Jim's eyes, though his face was very grave. 

“ To get somebody to crown him as king,” re- 
plied the girl, gazing out over the fields. 

“ And was any one found foolish enough ? ” he 
asked quickly. 

“ That,” said Alison, “ is the rest of the story 
which I have not read. The moral of it is : What a 
dreadful thing is masterfulness ! ” 

“ But how did you get to the moral if you had 
not finished the story, eh, little one ? ” 

“ It was printed at the beginning, like the text 
to a sermon,” she explained. 

“ And now, if we have quite finished telling 
tales,” said Jim, “ whom did you mean by that no- 
body ? ” 

“ Suppose I won't tell you, my dear sir? ” 

“ I shall have to make you, that is all.” 

“ You will grow like the man in my story if you 
are not careful,” observed Alison, shaking her head. 

“ I hope I may,” he answered earnestly. 

“ You couldn't do much to me out here, could 
you ? ” she asked thoughtfully. 

“ I could make you cry. That would be quite 
enough.” 

“ Oh, could you ? ” exclaimed Alison, with fine 
scorn. “ I should like to see you try.” 


28 o 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


And then the doctor spoke sternly — so sternly 
that Alison was amazed at the change in his voice, 
and look, and manner, and her cheeks flushed very 
pink at hearing herself spoken to in such a way, 
and she looked up half-frightened at his closing 
words : 

“ If you refuse to obey me, then, and deliberately 
choose to displease me, you will have to take the 
consequences. Stay there and make up your mind 
as to what you are going to do before I speak to you 
again.” 

And he strode away down the lane towards a 
fallen tree on which they had often sat and rested 
together, leaving Alison quite alone. 

The sun seemed suddenly to have disappeared, 
and a cold breath to be blowing across the summer 
warmth. The whole landscape looked different 
somehow, and the girl felt a sudden desolateness as 
she leaned her head on her folded arms, which lay on 
the top of the gate. She forgot the play which had 
prompted this little scene* and her own part in it 
completely. She Only felt how dreary the world 
would be if Dr. Cary continued to be angry with 
her, and how she wished he would come back. 
Tears filled her eyes and blurred the view, and one 
of them fell on her sleeve. Then she turned and 
followed Jim to the tree. 

“ May I come ? ” she asked timidly. 

“ What have you to say ? ” he asked her, still in 
the same stern voice. 

“ It was you I meant — and I am sorry I would 


HOME AGAIN 


28l 


not tell you before. May I come ? ” she repeated, 
looking pleadingly into his face. 

“ May you come ? ” he echoed gently, holding 
out his hand, and Alison let him lead her to the 
rustic seat which the fallen trunk made. 

“ I don’t like you to be angry with me,” she 
said, in a pitiful voice. “ It makes the world so 
cold.” 

“ Even Barnscombe ? ” he asked tenderly, for he 
noticed the glistening spot on her sleeve, and that 
her eyelashes were still wet. 

“ Yes, I think so. I had forgotten how it felt all 
this long time, and so I risked it again.” 

“ Do you wish you had not, little one? ” 

“ No, not now,” and her smile came back and 
covered her face with sunshine. “ It gives me the 
nicest feeling I have ever had in all my life.” 

“ I cannot understand that,” said Jim. “ It 
seems so strange.” 

“ Neither can I explain it. But it is when I mind 
that I care most, don’t you see? And when you 
make me mind that I care most for you ; it is only 
one of life’s many paradoxes. Tell me,” she added 
shyly after a moment’s pause, “ don’t you like to 
make me cry? ” 

“ I do. It sounds a brutal thing to say,” ex- 
claimed Jim, almost roughly, “ but it is the truth.” 

“ That is strange, too,” mused Alison. 

“ I do not think I should,” he continued 
thoughtfully, “ unless they were tears that I could 
myself dry. To make you cry and be unable to 
*9 


282 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


comfort you would kill me, I believe,” and his voice 
shook. 

They were both silent for a moment, and then 
Alison said: 

“ There almost was a corner in that country, 
wasn’t there ? ” 

“ There was indeed. Poor little thing ! ” 

“ Did you want to leave me all by myself off 
there?” 

“ No, I hated doing so,” he answered, with a 
smile. “ It seemed such a waste to be alone, even for 
a few minutes, when I might have been with you.” 

“ Do you know, I am beginning to understand 
what discipline means,” said Alison, with a thought- 
ful look. “ I always used to think it was a grand 
name for disagreeableness and despotism, and that 
we could only set our teeth and live through it. But 
you have shown me that it is really only another 
name for teaching — the hardest lessons, perhaps, 
but still only teaching, and the deepest, tenderest 
teaching, too.” 

“ Then you have learned a great lesson from a 
mere nursery rhyme, so to speak. Ours was only 
a game after all, little one.” 

“ Which things are an allegory,” quoted Alison, 
“ and our game has something real and true inside 
it, don’t you think ? ” 

“ I do. It was very real at the time to me,” said 
Jim. 

"And to me,” softly. “ Oh, here is Aunt Vinnie ! 
She promised she would come to meet us.” 


HOME AGAIN 283 

Lavinia sat down beside them, for she wanted a 
rest. 

“ We were talking about discipline/’ Alison ex- 
plained, “ and how different a thing it is to what as 
children we believed.” 

“ Discipline ! ” echoed Lavinia; “I hardly un- 
derstand. Do you mean being forbidden to do 
things, and punished for doing them ? ” 

“ Yes, generally speaking,” replied the doc- 
tor. 

“ But much more, too,” Alison chimed in, “ be- 
ing taught how to be, as well as how to do. In 
fact, the whole discipline of life.” 

“ Of life ? ” queried Lavinia. “ I thought dis- 
cipline was over when we were once grown 
up.” 

“ I suppose we are never quite grown-up enough 
for that,” said Jim, with a smile. “ There is always 
so much to learn, and we want such a lot of train- 
ing.” 

“ I never thought of that, James. But doubtless 
you are right.” 

“ It seems to me,” and Alison’s face was very 
earnest, “ that the secret of discipline is the person 
behind it, otherwise it would be cold law, and could 
only crush us into this or that pattern. So the se- 
cret of life’s discipline is the personal love and un- 
derstanding behind it, through which we are trained 
to be the sons of God.” 

The others were silent. Lavinia, because the 


284 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


thought was too big for her; and Jim, because he 
felt unworthy to walk on holy ground. 

“ And life’s experiences must all have some les- 
son to teach,” continued the girl, “ and so are 
something much more than just things to live 
through. We ought to consider the end rather than 
the means, but we are so stupid we hardly ever 
do. That is why we are so long in learning, I 
expect.” 

“ Then by the time we have learned, it will be 
time to die,” exclaimed Lavinia hopelessly. 

“ Of course it will,” replied Alison, “ and not 
before. It is at the end of term that the holidays 
come.” 

Lavinia looked slightly shocked. It took her 
breath away when Alison said such things. 

“ It depresses me very much,” Lavinia con- 
tinued, “ to think how death will put an end to 
everything.” 

“ But it won’t, Aunt Vinnie. It can’t, you 
know.” 

“ Of course I was speaking of earthly things, my 
dear. Doubtless there will be a new life to begin 
There. But novelty frightens me.” 

“ I do not think there will be enough newness to 
frighten anybody,” said Alison simply. “ Mother 
used to tell me how the real life, which is feeling, 
and knowing, and loving here, cannot be broken, 
but will go on in just the same sweet, homely way 
There, only it will have greater opportunities for 
growing and developing.” 


HOME AGAIN 


285 


“ But death must be an end of many good 
things,” persisted Lavinia. “ The rector says so.” 

“ And the beginning of many much better ones,” 
added Alison. 

“ I suppose it is because they have had so much 
more experience that our elders know so much bet- 
ter than we do,” Lavinia observed after a short si- 
lence. 

“ Not necessarily,” argued Alison. 

“ But time means experience, my dear.” 

“ I am not so sure of that either, Aunt Vinnie. 
Experience is learning, and folks may grow quite 
old without learning much.” 

“ I cannot follow you,” and Lavinia shook her 
head. “ And your idea seems to me hardly respect- 
ful to the aged.” 

Then the doctor broke in. 

“ Alison is right. Time is one thing and experi- 
ence another. In a few months one person might 
learn through suffering, or loving, or losing, what 
another might not be taught in half a century of 
uneventful years. It is new to me to think these 
things out, but we are stupid and ignorant when 
we do not do so. I have lived a long while,” he 
added sadly, “ but I believe I have learned most in 
a time that can be measured by months.” 

“ But, James ! ” exclaimed Lavinia, “ surely you 
have not needed for many years past to learn any- 
thing more? You are so clever and good.” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“ You are very loyal, Lavinia,” he said gently. 


286 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


And then he looked at Alison, and saw in her 
truthful eyes that she thought he had yet much to 
learn ; and he knew in a sudden flash that she alone, 
of all the people on this earth, could teach him those 
things. 

“ I knew you would understand,” said the girl 
— a tender touch in her voice. 

“ You and James do often see things alike,” La- 
vinia observed. “ I wonder how it is ? ” 

“ Perhaps because we both have the artistic tem- 
perament,^ ” suggested Alison, with a funny little 
smile. 

“ What is the artistic temperament ? ” asked 
Jim. 

“ I thought it was being able to draw and 
paint/’ said Lavinia. 

Alison looked at the doctor helplessly. When 
Lavinia entered a discussion, it usually was hope- 
less. Her niece once described her as a kind of 
person who would want to leave cards at a cathe- 
dral, and that suggested her ignorantly conven- 
tional treatment of things both great and small. 
To compare Alison and Lavinia was as impossible 
as comparing a picture with a yard of cambric. 

“ Tell us what the artistic temperament really 
is?” Tim repeated. “ I have never heard it de- 
fined.” 

Alison looked thoughtful. 

“ Don’t you think it is, in a way, the longing to 
interpret, or give expression to everything ? ” 

“ And I should say also,” added Jim, “ the hun- 


HOME AGAIN 


287 


ger for some outside beauty which shall respond to 
a certain inborn longing. Just as the musical per- 
son wants to hear music, the artistic temperament 
longs and looks out for some answer to itself. ,, 

“ But perhaps there is a deeper thing than either 
of these,” said Alison. “ I should call it the passion 
for the best, which the second best can never sat- 
isfy.” 

“What do you mean by the best, my dear?” 
asked Lavinia, who looked terribly puzzled. 

“ Oh, you know! Just the best,” explained the 
girl, whose strong point was not lucidity. “ To see 
and strive after the best in everything, even when 
the second or third best would do quite as well ; to 
want to be the best that is possible in every circum- 
stance, above and beyond what is necessary, and 
just for its own sake. That is why the artistic tem- 
perament is never worldly, or greedy, or cheap.” 

“ I cannot imagine how you can think out all 
these deep subjects,” sighed Lavinia. 

“ You see,” Alison went on, “ a man with the 
artistic temperament might not make laws as well as 
the inartistic, but he would make love much better, 
because the latter involves self-interpretation.” 

“ Do you think he would love better, too ? ” 
asked Jim. 

“ No ; for love is something quite outside one’s 
self, and no question of temperament any more than 
of tallness. But the man without the artistic tem- 
perament would tell a woman he loved her, and that 
would be the end of it; but the man with it would 


288 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


tell her, and that would only be the beginning of 
it. The love itself might be equally big in both 
cases.” 

“ But when a man has once told a woman that 
he loves her/’ argued Lavinia, “ it is done once for 
all. It would be unnecessary and embarrassing for 
him to repeat himself.” 

Jim Cary made an impatient gesture. 

“ You can never do things once for all with the 
artistic temperament, Aunt Vinnie,” said Alison, 
with a smile. “ That is too mathematical a position 
for me to understand. Everything really is only a 
beginning.” 

“ Everything that is worth caring about,” cor- 
rected Jim. 

“ I am not sure that it is a good thing for a man 
to have the artistic temperament,” said Alison de- 
murely, and with a glance up at him through her 
long dark lashes. 

“ Indeed ! ” he exclaimed, with a half-smile. 

“ It does not tend to manliness, you see,” con- 
tinued the girl. “ I have known many men whom 
it made effeminate, and petulant, and whimsical, 
and generally tiresome.” 

“ Oh, Alison ! ” reproved her aunt, “ what are 
you saying? James is none of these things.” 

The doctor threw back his head and laughed. 
His splendid physique, and the sense of his own 
intense manliness, made him proof against all such 
threats. 

“ I did not say he was,” replied Alison inno- 


HOME AGAIN 289 

cently. “ I was only just thinking ” and then 

she stopped. 

“ Well, what were you thinking ?” demanded 
Jim. 

“ My dear/’ Lavinia expostulated, “ you had 
better say no more.” 

“ What were you thinking? ” he repeated. 

“ How wonderfully nice it is when a really man- 
ly man has the artistic temperament as an extra 
thrown in. Don’t you think so ? ” And she ap- 
pealed sweetly to him. 

“ You are a little witch ! ” he exclaimed. “ Isn’t 
she, Lavinia ? ” 

“ I hardly know, James. I have always thought 
of witches as such very old women.” 

“ And you should not call me names, Dr. Cary. 
It is not good manners. And you know your man- 
ners are your best point,” in a slightly reproachful 
tone. 

“ Still, Alison,” persisted her aunt, “ I think you 
are wrong in giving as your example a man who 
is in love. It is natural at your age you should know 
little about such things, but then it is a pity, my 
dear, to expose your ignorance.” 

The girl looked away across the view for a few 
moments of silence, and then she spoke with a new 
gentleness in her voice. 

“ Perhaps it was not a good example, Aunt 
Vinnie.” 

“ I hardly like to speak on such a subject,” con- 
tinued Lavinia, a faint flush on her faded cheek. 


290 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


For the Garlands belonged to that old-fashioned 
school which considered that the mention of love is 
an indecorous and almost indelicate thing rather 
than the ring of life’s music and the rhythm of its 
song. “ But I cannot agree with Alison that love 
is outside one’s self. It seems to me that it is a 
combination of sweet and gentle attributes.” 

“ Made up rather like a pudding?” queried the 
girl, tracing lines on the sandy soil with Jim’s walk- 
ing-stick. 

“ That is putting it coarsely, my dear,” reproved 
her aunt. 

“ Go on, Lavinia,” said Jim, in rather a strained 
voice, “ and tell us what you really think.” 

“ It is very kind of you, James, to be ready to 
listen to me.” 

“ Oh, no, Aunt Vinnie, it isn’t a bit. It is very 
kind of us to give Dr. Cary all these valuable pieces 
of information.” 

u My dear! Surely you jest. But I was only 
thinking of the attributes of love — how sweet and 
unselfish it is ! ” 

“ But it is not unselfish,” interrupted Alison im- 
patiently. 

Lavinia lifted her hands in amazement. 

“ What are you saying, my dear ? The person 
who is in love is truly unselfish, ready to give up 
his own way to the other without a murmur.” 

“ But, don’t you know,” cried the girl, “ that 
love is something much bigger than unselfishness? 
To be truly in love is to want the other person’s 


HOME AGAIN 


291 

way, not to be ready to give up one’s own for the 
sake of it.” 

“ You are right there,” exclaimed Jim. “ The 
man who is in love is not a bit unselfish.” 

Lavinia looked pained, but Alison went on : 

“ The question of unselfishness in love seems to 
me to rob it of half its charm. If two lovers were 
going to spend a day or have a treat together, it 
would be utterly spoiled if one of them only went 
for the sake of the other, and not for his own indi- 
vidual happiness.” 

“ Exactly,”- agreed Jim. “ The element of self- 
sacrifice in its highest sense is included in love, but 
not that more superficial thing which is called un- 
selfishness.” 

“ I cannot take in your meaning,” sighed La- 
vinia. 

“ Can’t you see, dear,” explained Alison gently, 
“ that if Grannie wanted me to go for a walk with 
her when I was wanting to do something else, and I 
gave up my own plan to go, it would be unselfish- 
ness ; but if ” — and here her eyes were drawn by 
some magnetic force to Jim’s — “ the man with 
whom I was in love wanted me to go for a walk 
with him, however many other plans I might have 
made, I should want to go with him so much more 
than anything else in the world, that it could not 
possibly be called unselfish of me to do so.” 

“ I don’t like the discussion of these subjects,” 
said Lavinia, a trifle peevishly ; “ it upsets me.” 

Both Jim Cary and Alison were very patient 


292 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


with Lavinia just then. Perhaps because they un- 
consciously felt a pity for her which it would have 
been disloyal to even formulate into thought. 

“ She is growing too introspective, isn’t she, La- 
vinia ?” said Jim, boldly taking his stand on La- 
vinia’s side. “ Filling that little head of hers with 
all sorts of problems and puzzles. Do you hear 
what we are saying? ” turning to the girl, who was 
looking up through and beyond him into some 
realm of distant thought. 

Her eyes came back, with a smile. 

“ Yes, my dear sir, I hear. And when a man 
says ‘ do you hear ’ he always means ‘ Are you ready 
to obey ? 9 I am not quite sure whether I am that, 
but let us hope yours was not an R.S.V.P. state- 
ment.” 

“ You are right, James,” and Lavinia looked 
quite happy again. “ Alison does think too much.” 

“ It made me worse sending me to school in 
London, Aunt Vinnie.” 

“ But I thought there was no time for girls to 
think during a London season?” queried Jim. 

“ That depends on the girls,” replied Alison 
quickly, “ rather than on the time.” 

“ I cannot imagine how an out-of-door girl like 
you managed in those hot, stuffy rooms,” said La- 
vinia. 

“ I hated that part,” answered her niece, “ for 
you so rarely saw and felt real out-of-doors. Lon- 
don seems to me rather like a station — a draught at 
each end, and a roof of smoke I used to look out 


HOME AGAIN 


293 

of my window to find a country sky and some fresh 
air whenever I woke in the night.” 

‘'And how often was that?” asked Jim. 

“ Oh, three or four times ! ” 

"Foolish little thing! Wasting your time for 
rest and sleep in such a way. You shall not go to 
London again.” 

Alison bowed her head submissively. She did 
so enjoy that masterful way Jim had of putting a 
veto on things she did not want to do. 

" Did I tell you, James,” asked Lavinia, with a 
flash of sudden interest, “ that Mary Jane has given 
notice? ” 

“ What a bother ! ” said Jim absently. He was 
watching Alison’s efforts to cover his little dog with 
handfuls of grass. 

" It is indeed. She is such a valuable servant. 
Mother and I hardly know what we shall do with- 
out her. For not only is she so quick and clean in 
parlour work, but she is so good with her needle. 
And she is never long in answering the door. Have 
you not noticed that, James, often when you called ?” 

"Oh, yes!” 

" And she is so respectful in her manners, too 
— which Mother sets great store by,” continued La- 
vinia, whose face had become quite animated. " Of 
course we do not give her very high wages, but 
then a comfortable home and a good mistress are of 
such importance to a servant-girl.” 

There had been a time when Jim Cary had 
argued from his intimacy with the Garlands that the 


294 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


discussion of such domestic details was an integral 
part of feminine conversation. That it had bored 
him intensely he never denied, but he had listened 
to the long tales with an outward courtesy which 
nothing could ruffle. But now his eyes were 
opened. Alison’s talk never bored him. Why was 
it that Lavinia would show a lively interest in the 
wages of a parlour-maid, and be oppressed by such 
subjects as her niece had taught him to think of 
and discuss with so much pleasure? The question 
puzzled and distressed him. 

“ Mary Jane keeps company with a very smart 
young man,” remarked Alison, “ whose name ap- 
pears to be ‘ Tom-i’-the-militia.’ Rather a nice 
name, don’t you think? And she never calls him 
anything for short. I wonder whether she, Mary 
Jane, will take ‘ Tom-i’-the-militia ’ for her wedded 
husband when the day arrives ? ” 

“ His real name is Tom Wortly,” Lavinia ex- 
plained. And Jim’s smile suddenly faded. 

On the way home Alison left them. She was 
always wanting to go round by the sea, and the 
extra distance was nothing to her young health and 
strength. Lavinia, looking up at Jim, saw the slight 
frown across his forehead and the compression of 
his lips. 

“ James,” she said timidly, “ I am afraid I was 
unsympathetic just now in the conversation we were 
having, but I am not accustomed to speak about 
such things as Alison does. I am very sorry.” 

“ Oh, it is all right, Lavinia ! ” And then he 


HOME AGAIN 


295 

added half-sadly, “ Perhaps such talk is rather dan- 
gerous.” 

“ And I spoke crossly once, I fear. Will you 
forgive and forget it ? ” And Lavinia’s eyes were 
full of tears. 

“ You are exaggerating,” he said, with a kind 
look, “ for it is a good thing to have opinions of 
your own.” 

“ But not contrary ones to yours. I could not 
be happy in them, James. You see Alison could 
not really understand about love when she spoke 
about its not being unselfish. I would give up my 
own way and thoughts always to you, and I feel you 
give up yours to me.” 

“ Poor Lavinia!” exclaimed Jim, and with a 
deeper pity than she could gauge. 

“ And you will not mind any more about those 
impatient words of mine, dear James?” 

“ There is nothing to mind about,” and then he 
added quickly — “ that you have said or done.” 

That night a great wave of trouble and per- 
plexity swept over Jim Cary’s soul. He recognised 
the fact that he loved Alison, though he was bound 
to Lavinia. Moreover, he realised that this new 
feeling of love was an infinitely bigger, and stronger, 
and more overwhelming thing than he ever im- 
agined existed in this world at all. He was deeply 
read in romantic love, from the classics downwards, 
but he knew now that what he had read, and be- 
lieved he understood — always leaving a margin for 
poetic fancy, at which he had smiled indulgently as 


296 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

at some exaggeration — was but the alphabet of the 
new language which love was teaching him. A 
sense of awe and strange gladness uplifted him, as 
he came into the presence of that which was so 
much stronger than himself, so much deeper than 
his understanding, so much higher than his hopes. 
But close on its heels came the flood of sadness ; for 
he felt that this great and good thing was not for 
him to keep. Lent by eternity for one brief mo- 
ment that he might see how divine a thing is human 
love, then snatched away again, leaving him infinite- 
ly poorer in the possession of the commonplace, 
conventional affection, which he had stamped with 
the seal of his life’s promise; yet infinitely richer, 
too, in the knowledge and power that come of hav- 
ing once looked into the Heart of Heaven, even 
though the vision be but for a fleeting glance. 

That Alison could care for him in return never 
once crossed his mind, nor the possibility of her 
ever knowing of his love. He was a strong man, 
and he knew it. He could keep his secret safely 
locked up in his own soul, and no one should ever 
guess it. He could hold up his head and smile, 
and nobody would know that he carried about with 
him a mortal pain. He paced up and down his 
long dining-room, as was his way in any anxiety or 
distress, and squared his shoulders and set his teeth 
as a man should when he faces a blow. But his 
breath came fast and short, and his hands gleamed 
bone-white, so tightly were they clenched. Then as 
the struggle passed by, and the first battle of what 


HOME AGAIN 


29 7 


would be a life-long war was won, he unlocked his 
desk, and from an inmost drawer drew out a faded 
rose, the only one that Alison had ever given him. 
And with its dying scent came back the golden 
picture of a summer’s day, when the girl was gath- 
ering flowers for the patients in the little cottage 
hospital, and he had said, “ Isn’t the doctor to have 
a button-hole, too ? ” And she had gathered a rose 
and fastened it in his coat, and then laughed at 
him for his vanity. How many stories lie hidden in 
the crumbling petals of faded flowers, how many 
memories come floating back on their faint scent! 
Sad little trophies of happy triumphs, silent expres- 
sions of “ thoughts that lie too deep for tears.” But 
while we weep over these sacred relics, and lay them 
tenderly on the graves of long-lost joys, the fields 
and woods and gardens are gay again with new 
flowers, which still wear the old familiar colours, 
and breathe the same sweet breath. And the mes- 
sage they bring us is, that a spring shall surely 
come after autumn sadness and winter death, and 
that we shall one day have again as many flowers 
as we can gather, instead of the two or three faded 
roses we treasure now. 

Jim stood looking at the little crumpled button- 
hole, held so tenderly in his hand, and as he lifted 
it to his lips a great lump came in his throat and 
his eyes smarted with unshed tears. 

“ Good-bye, little flower,” he whispered huskily ; 
“ I must not look at you again, but I shall know you 
are here, all the same.” 

20 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE WRECK 

Now it happened that summer came to an end 
rather early that year. Like the proverbial child 
of Sunday-school literature it was perfectly sweet, 
and sunshiny, and good while it lasted, but unfor- 
tunately it died young. Rough gales blew up from 
the sea, and tore off the leaves before they had fin- 
ished changing colour — drifting rain filled the pools 
with water, and the lanes with mud, and left the gar- 
dens desolate. To Lavinia it was autumn indeed, 
for a sadness seemed to have settled upon her that 
she could neither explain nor drive away. Her 
mother noticed she had a cold, and kept her wrapped 
up in a shawl by the fire; but when the cold was 
well again Lavinia felt no better. Alison did all 
she could to drive away her aunt’s depression and 
to keep the Old House bright with the sunshine that 
is not only of summer. No autumn sadness had the 
power to quell her youthful spirits — was not there 
another spring coming soon, which would surely 
be more beautiful even than the last? For so the 
years mount up to our zenith of happiness, whether 
it come early or late. And even when we have stood 
298 


THE WRECK 


2 99 


for the appointed time on our Delectable Mountain, 
and life calls us to walk on down the hill beyond, 
we still, in the memory of happiness past, hold the 
promise of happiness to come, and the future, shin- 
ing far beyond the boundary of time, is bright with 
the sunshine of those long-lost joys which have 
been, and always will be, so dear to our hearts. But 
as yet Lavinia saw not this vision of hope. She 
had been content to live only in the present, and 
her powers had narrowed themselves into the small 
round of daily tasks. She had done her duty in 
the letter, but not in the spirit, of life. She 
had looked only on the little, till she had be- 
come too shortsighted to see the distances of faith, 
and hope, and love, which stretch far away into the 
Infinite on all sides of the sons of men. And now 
she felt the shadow of a coming blindness, which 
should shut out all her present sunshine, and leave 
her alone with no outlook in the future. And so 
Lavinia was sad. But in Alison there was perhaps 
more than youthful spirits which made the world 
just then, in spite of rain and hurricanes, so fair a 
place. She was climbing the Mountain and was 
in sight of its sun-crowned summit. She did not 
know this herself, any more than Lavinia knew 
what had happened, but she was full of a glad- 
ness she could not define, and there was joy even 
in battling with the elements of those wild autumn 
days. 

“ I have been out on the sand-hills,” said the 
girl, coming with an atmosphere of fresh air into 


300 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


the small, stuffy room, where Mrs. Garland and her 
daughter were crouching over the fire. 

“ Whatever made you walk so far on such a 
day ? ” asked Lavinia in amazement. 

“ Oh, it was splendid ! The tide was low, and 
the sands were so wet they looked like a smooth 
bit of the sea that had been left behind. A solitary 
cart was coming back from the lighthouse, and it 
might have been Noah's Ark on the face of the 
waters." 

“ My dear," interrupted her grandmother, “ I 
do not like the introduction of Scripture illustra- 
tions into ordinary conversation. It sounds irrev- 
erent." 

Alison laughed. 

“ I only met one person the whole day — old Ben- 
bow. He looked perfect in his jersey and great oil- 
skin boots and hat. He says there will be a storm 
to-night. I could hardly stand for the wind up on 
the sand-hills myself." 

Lavinia shivered. 

“ I do wish the weather would change ! " she 
exclaimed nervously. 

“ You would like it better if you came out more," 
said her niece. “ I do wish you would, Aunt Vin- 
nie. Your cough has quite gone, and it really is 
not a bit cold." 

“ I think the child is right," observed the old 
lady, looking from Lavinia's faded face to Alison's 
fresh cheeks. “ Young people must not settle down 
into the ways of old ones." 


THE WRECK 


301 


“ I am no longer young,” said Lavinia sadly. 

“ Oh, what nonsense ! ” interrupted her niece 
almost roughly. She felt such a wave of pity surge 
up in her heart that, in a boyish way, she wanted to 
hide it. 

“ It is only too true,” repeated Lavinia. 

Alison knelt down beside her and put her arms 
round her waist. 

“ It isn’t a bit true,” she persisted, with all the 
vehemence that indicated she knew that it was, “ and 
I won’t have you say so, dear.” 

“ Oh, mind my dress,” exclaimed her aunt, 
“ your clothes are so wet, and this material shows 
every spot.” 

The girl stood up and felt a sudden chill in her 
feelings. Why would Lavinia always think of de- 
tails when big things came in sight? It was the 
habit of a lifetime, but Alison was young enough 
to think that habits are very trifling things, and 
can be laid aside at will directly anything larger 
claims one’s thoughts. 

“ I am sorry,” she said ruefully. “ I hope it 
isn’t hurt.” 

“ You are very thoughtless, Alison,” reproved 
her grandmother, and the girl was silent. She knew 
it was not thoughtlessness that had made her want 
to clasp her aunt in so close an embrace, and so 
protect her in a childish, impossible way from the 
cruelty of circumstances. 

“ I do think it is time you became a little older 
in your ways,” continued Lavinia querulously. 


302 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ You are altogether so childish and unformed in 
character. I cannot understand you.” 

“ I know you can’t,” a little sadly, “ and perhaps 
you are right. I cannot understand myself. Some- 
times I feel as young as Robin Merrivale, and al- 
most as schoolboyish ; and sometimes I feel, oh so 
much older than you, Aunt Vinnie ! ” 

“ That is absurd when you consider my years as 
compared with your own.” 

“ But life is something more than years,” and 
the girl’s face grew very earnest. “ Years are only 
part of time, but life is part of eternity.” 

“ But our life here is made up of years,” argued 
Lavinia. Sometimes she had a few opinions of her 
own when her mother was out of the room. 

“ In a way it is, but not really. When big things 
happen, don’t you know how the ordinary sense 
of time is lost? I remember that the hour after I 
knew Mother had died, was longer than all the rest 
of my life before put together, and I could hardly 
remember the time when I hadn’t known it.” 

“ That was the result of excessive grief,” said 
Lavinia. 

“ What did you feel like, Aunt Vinnie, when a 
really big thing happened to you ? ” 

“ A really big thing never has happened to me,” 
Lavinia answered doubtfully. 

“ Never happened to you? ” exclaimed her niece. 
“ Don’t you call falling in love a really big thing? ” 
“ That is quite different, my dear, and not really 
big when compared with death.” 


THE WRECK 


303 

“ I should have called it bigger, for love is the 
only thing that death cannot destroy.” 

Lavinia looked puzzled. 

“ Of course James's proposal pleased me greatly 
and put me in quite a flutter, but it is so long ago 
now that I cannot recall my exact feelings.” 

“ But don't you know now that life is to be 
found in what we feel, and are, and suffer, and not 
just in outside things?” 

“ I cannot agree with you in considering outside 
things unimportant. ‘ The trivial round, the com- 
mon task, will furnish all we ought to ask,' you 
know, my dear. But do not let us talk of such 
things, it is so depressing,” and Lavinia gave a little 
shudder. 

As the day wore on, the roar of the wind and 
the sea waxed louder. The great rage outside as 
well as the misunderstanding within laid a sobering 
influence on Alison's young heart, and her usually 
merry voice was almost silent. During the evening 
Dr. Cary called, and he brought with him that sense 
of strength which is so dear to the hearts of women. 
He smiled at Lavinia's fear of the storm, till she felt 
it was foolish to have been afraid of anything while 
he was at hand; and he told the old lady of his 
day's work with so much dramatic instinct that she 
became quite excited over Sally Benbow's refusal 
to put a poultice on her small grandson at the doc- 
tor's behest. 

u What did you do, James, to make her?” she 
asked, with much excitement. 


304 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I did not make her,” he answered simply. “ I 
put one on instead. The little lad will pull through 
now. Sally was very penitent before I left.” 

The moment Jim Cary entered the room he 
knew that Alison was sad. His quick understand- 
ing of her — an understanding which is only learned 
in the school of love — read the girl’s thoughts with 
magic insight, and he longed to take her in his arms 
and comfort her, as he knew he alone could. Once 
or twice lately he had seen a very pathetic look in 
Alison’s eyes, and it made him love her all the more 
intensely. For he was one of those men whose 
strong, happy natures are especially appealed to by 
the touch of pity. Every little child in Barnscombe 
knew this in practice, if not in theory — the sick and 
the dying held on to him with a confidence that was 
never disappointed, and the helpless could not turn 
to him in vain. But when the girl he loved so deeply 
and so tenderly looked out through tear-dimmed 
eyes, his heart was full almost to bursting. It re- 
quired all his strength of self-control, and that was 
no small power, to keep back the torrent of words 
which should tell her all she was to him. Why, oh, 
why had Fate been so cruel, he thought, as to bind 
him back with fetters which his honour would not 
let him break? Jim Cary forgot in his impatience 
that it was he himself who had riveted those bonds : 
because in his youth he had imagined that he was 
competent to plan out his own deeper life, he had 
made so grievous a mistake ; and had thought him- 
self satisfied with the second-best while he was yet 


THE WRECK 


305 


too blind and ignorant to see that the best awaited 
him, as it does all who look up for it, above and 
beyond the conveniences and conventionalities of 
life, and are content to tarry the Lord’s leisure and 
put their trust in Him. 

But Alison felt the power of his sympathy even 
though it was unspoken. She just sat still and 
listened to the trifling talk between the other three, 
and comfort came. He was her friend, and he would 
always help, and understand, and know she was not 
really thoughtless, and be interested in all her con- 
cerns however small. Every now and then she 
glanced up at him and thought how strong and 
big he looked, and how well his blue serge coat 
fitted him, and what splendidly set shoulders he had. 
She did so like that trick of playing with his watch- 
chain, and the way he put his arm over the back 
of the chair. She wondered whether her aunt saw 
all these dear, absurd, little charms of his, and then 
the thought of Lavinia brought back the weight in 
her heart and she wished that things were different, 
only she would not have had them different for the 
world. 

Then came the sound of hurrying feet and many 
voices down from the village and along the road. 
Jim Cary started up to listen, and a loud rap fell on 
the front door. 

“ It’s the doctor we want,” cried some one, and 
they all ran out into the hall. 

“ A ship on the rocks,” explained old Benbow ; 
“ and they’ve gone fofr the lifeboat. She’ll be here 


306 a corner of the west 

in half-an-hour if they bring her round by the 
road.” 

“ It’s no use launching her off Whatecombe,” 
cried another voice. “ Out at the point here is the 
nearest place to the wreck.” 

“ Come on, come on ! ” shouted the people out- 
side; and Jim seized his hat from the stand and 
rushed out, forgetting all about his overcoat. 

“ Let’s go, too, Aunt Vinnie ! ” cried Alison ex- 
citedly. “ It is fine now, and we must be there. I 
couldn’t stay at home while all this is going on.” 

And Lavinia was hurried into a cloak and hat 
before she had time to remonstrate, and she and 
Alison joined the outskirts of the crowd and started 
on the race down to the sea. 

It was a weird, impressive sight. The moon 
seemed tearing along across the sky through masses 
of jagged cloud, and the breakers broke with loud 
thunderclaps on the heels of the hissing back-wash. 
The wind screamed in the fury of its strength, and 
every now and then a rocket of distress ran up from 
the smitten ship. Would the lifeboat never come in 
answer to that last desperate appeal of the lost? 

Jim Cary marshalled the waiting crowd into 
some kind of order, and the brave crew were soon 
picked out. 

“You here!” he exclaimed in surprise, as he 
suddenly caught sight of Alison and her aunt. “ Go 
back home, at once.” 

“Oh, no, I can’t!” cried the girl. “We shall 
not be hurt, and I must stay.” 


THE WRECK 


307 


Just then there came a shout, for the lifeboat, 
drawn by straining, galloping horses, was in sight. 

“ A man short, sir ! ” exclaimed one of the crew 
hurriedly, as they stood ready to start. 

“ It is all right. I am going,” answered the 
doctor quietly, as he watched the distant procession 
rushing round the curve of the hill. 

A sudden cry broke from Alison’s lips. In the 
noise both of the people and the storm it was hardly 
audible — but Jim heard it, and it thrilled through 
his very soul. 

“ You mustn’t go — you mustn’t!” she pleaded, 
clinging to his arm. “ You will be drowned, and 
oh, I cannot spare you ! ” and her pale face and 
streaming eyes looked up to his. 

“ God bless you, my darling ! ” he whispered, 
and then turned quickly away to hide the fact that 
his eyes, too, were blinded with tears. 

A wild cheer rang out as the boat was pushed 
off down the beach. The men sprang in, and Jim 
Cary took his oar with the others ; but his heart was 
filled with a new gladness and peace as he cast a last 
longing look on the dear girlish figure, which was 
to him the only one on that crowded shore. 

“ She knows now that I love her,” he said to 
himself, “ and I believe that she loves me a little. 
God is very good ! ” 

And for perhaps the first time in his life a great 
prayer burst from Jim Cary’s soul — a prayer that 
God would indeed bless Alison, and keep their love 
for each other safe, and sacred, and true ; and that, 


3°8 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


though life or death might keep them apart for a 
while, they should be together through eternity. 

As the girl stood motionless, her eyes straining 
after the boat which was vanishing into the dark- 
ness, and a look of the anguish of death on her face, 
she felt a gentle hand take hers, and somewhere from 
far away came Lavinia’s voice : 

“ He will come back, dear. I have been praying 
for him, and I somehow feel he will.” 

Then Alison broke down and sobbed, and it 
was her aunt who was suddenly the strong one, and 
soothed the girl’s grief, and gave her hope again. 

For to Lavinia, as well as to the other two, there 
had come the supreme moment of her life. Only 
a fleeting look on a face which was so dear to her, 
only a cry from a pair of girlish lips; but Lavinia 
read the story in a flash, and understood it wholly. 
And with the understanding came that call which 
comes to every man and woman once at least be- 
fore death shows them the answer to it. 

Some hear it in the whisper of their mother’s 
voice, and some in the cry of their little children. 
To some it sounds in the music of a life’s love, and 
to others in the funeral march of sorrow. Lavinia 
heard it that night on the desolate sands — desolate 
to her, in spite of the crowds, for her dreams of love 
and happiness lay broken and buried at her feet — 
and hearing that call, she obeyed it ; for, as the dis- 
ciples of old on the sea-shore, she knew that it was 
the Lord. 

“ We must not stand here any longer, dear,” 


THE WRECK 


309 


she said softly, after Alison’s grief had spent itself. 
“ Let us run home and bring some brandy, and as 
many warm wraps as we can, to be ready when the 
boat comes back.” 

Alison looked lovingly at her aunt. She could 
have given her anything out of gratitude for her 
simple use of the word “ when ” in that sentence. In 
the girl’s heart there was such a big, strong, cruel 
“ if,” but Lavinia had said the “ when ” so naturally 
that it fell like balm on Alison’s troubled spirit, and 
she almost smiled. 

“ Yes, we will, we will!” she cried hurriedly; 
“ but let us make haste.” And with a pitiful attempt 
at bravery she added, “ They won’t be long now.” 

Not a word was spoken on their hurried journey 
homewards. Alison, in the selfishness of youth’s 
sorrow, forgot everything and everybody else ; and, 
besides, Lavinia was always so calm and quiet in her 
joys as well as her griefs that it seemed quite natural 
for her to show no other signs. 

Mrs. Garland listened to their breathless story 
with marked disapproval. 

“ It is very wrong and foolish of James to risk 
his valuable life for a parcel of useless Frenchmen ! ” 
she exclaimed severely. 

Alison waited for an instant for Lavinia to speak 
up in the doctor’s defence, but her aunt was silent. 
The old fear of disagreeing with her mother kept her 
tongue tied even at this moment. Alison burst out, 
with choking voice and crimson cheeks : 

“ How can you speak so, Grannie ? It is splen- 


3io 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


did of him ! ” And the tears rushed again into her 
eyes. 

“ You had better go to bed,” continued her 
grandmother ; “ you are over-excited, I can see. 
And there is one good thing about the Carys — they 
are as much at home in a boat as I am in a rocking- 
chair: so perhaps Tames will come to no harm 
after all.” 

Then Alison ran back and kissed her before she 
joined Lavinia in the hall. 

“ Let me carry that ! ” exclaimed the girl, as her 
aunt, with some other things, took up the doctor's 
coat. And as Lavinia readily gave it up, a tear fell 
on its sleeve, which Alison mistook for a raindrop, 
as it glistened afterwards in the moonlight. 

When they reached the shore again, great cheers 
were rising from the crowd. 

“ She's in sight,” they shouted, as the lifeboat 
bounded over the big walls of water that the storm 
had built up. 

“ Thank God ! ” shrieked some excited woman, 
whose husband was in the boat. 

“ Thank God ! ” echoed Alison, in a whisper, 
with her cheek laid against the folds of the 
coat. 

And a great cry of joy and praise went up to 
Heaven as the men rushed into the surf to meet 
the boat, and saw that not one of that brave crew 
was missing. 

“ All lives saved,” rang out Jim's manly voice to 
tell the people the good news ; but Lavinia saw his 


THE WRECK 


31 1 

face turn towards Alison, and a look that she had 
never seen before flashed between them. 

“ Thank God that he loved me a little first, ” was 
her pitiful prayer, “ and that I have been so happy.” 

When Alison lay down to sleep that night her 
thoughts were in a whirl. The revelations of the 
evening's experience had brought the knowledge 
of her own and the doctor's love home to her ; but it 
had not shown her Lavinia's heart. She hoped that 
her aunt would never know ; for, as she recalled the 
confused scene, she was sure that she had said noth- 
ing that the common anxiety about so great a friend 
would not easily explain. And Lavinia never did 
see things. Though Alison had sometimes felt a 
little impatient with her for this dulness of insight, 
she was very thankful for it now. 

“ I can live in the happiness of just knowing that 
he loves me,” she argued to herself ; “ but if Aunt 
Vinnie knew it would kill her. She shall never, 
never know. Only ” — and here Alison's eyes filled 
with tears — “ she can never love him as I do.” 

So in the Old House two women cried them- 
selves to sleep that night. 

And Jim Cary never went to sleep at all. He 
stayed with his ship-wrecked patients until all was 
well with them, and then he sat over the fire while 
the embers died away, and till the pale cold dawn 
came in through the unshuttered windows, and 
brought the tidings of a new day. And a new day 
it truly was to him — the first day of a new life. He 
seemed, in the wild conflicts of the evening before. 


3 12 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


to have passed through the very depths of human 
feeling. He had fought with love that almost over- 
whelmed him as he bade Alison good-bye on the 
shore; he had fought with death as he struggled 
against the waves to rescue the vessel’s drowning 
crew; he had fought with himself as he came back 
to land again, and swore that no word of disloyalty 
to Lavinia should pass his lips. 

“ And,” he added to himself, as he threw open 
the window, and looked out over the land, still sleep- 
ing in the calm of the morning, though with a 
slight restless movement of birds and trees and 
grass which showed that waking-time was at hand, 
“ I have fought with God all my life to have my 
own way, and shape my own ends. But the battle 
is over now. Love has claimed my soul, and I can- 
not stand against it. It has broken all my poor, 
cheap plans, and has laid me low at its feet. But I 
know that it is the Touch of God, and so in my 
defeat lies my greatest happiness.” 

And the peace of a new light fell on his tired 
soul as the sunlight crept up slowly over the hills 
and gilded the landscape with its smile. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 

“ How white and washed-out you both look,” 
remarked Mrs. Garland at breakfast on the following 
morning. “That comes of gallivanting out after that 
ridiculous wreck instead of going properly to bed. 
Your eyes are regularly swelled up for want of sleep.” 

Lavinia and Alison glanced at each other with a 
strange, shy interest, and the latter's face was the 
whiter and sadder of the two. 

“ I shall send for James to doctor the pair of 
you,” continued the old lady, cracking her egg. 
“ Eating no breakfast either.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” exclaimed Alison ; “ I know what is 
the matter. I have taken — a — a little cold.” 

“ And my head aches,” chimed in Lavinia. “ It 
is only that. I want a quiet day, mother, thank 
you, that is all.” 

“ I am going down to the shore,” said Alison, 
who felt she must be alone for a time with her 
trouble. 

“ And a fine remedy for a cold that would be ! ” 
replied her grandmother derisively. “ You had bet- 
ter go to bed with a treacle posset.” 


21 


313 


314 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


Alison shuddered. 

“ I dare say it isn’t a cold/ 5 she said lamely. 
“ But I feel I must get out,” and she flew from the 
room. 

“I cannot think what has come to you both,” 
snapped Mrs. Garland ; “ looking more like a couple 
of corpses than ordinary decent females. Have 
some nitre and soda, Lavinia. It will do you good.” 

“ Very well, mother,” replied her daughter 
meekly. What did it matter to her if she did drink 
a little nitre and soda along with the cup of 
life’s bitterness which she held in her trembling 
hand? 

“ And I hope to goodness there will not be an- 
other wreck, I am sure! For it has made a fine 
wreck of you and Alison.” 

“ It has of me,” sighed Lavinia to herself, as 
with tear-filled eyes she went into the china-pantry 
and conscientiously measured out the nitre and soda 
her mother had ordered. 

It was strange that Lavinia felt no jealousy of 
Alison ; but this was perhaps because she had never 
known what real love was. The revelation of yes- 
terday distressed her more deeply by the change 
than the loss it involved. It had been the habit of 
her life for many years to be engaged to Jim, and 
the thought of breaking that order of things fright- 
ened even more than saddened her. And Lavinia 
also was guided by a childlike faith which whis- 
pered that the Lord gave and the Lord had taken 
away, and so, though she could not rise to the 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


315 


heights of adding, “ blessed be the name of the 
Lord,” she accepted with a gentle grief the Divine 
decree, and never dreamed of rebelling or fighting 
against it. 

As Lavinia sat silent over her sewing that day 
a very tumult of thoughts and plans surged through 
her poor aching head. What she should do, and 
how she should do it, was a problem beyond her 
capacity easily to solve. She had a hope that Dr. 
Cary might say or do something ; but at the bottom 
of her heart she knew that it was a false one, for 
Jim would never break a promise, or do what the 
world calls a dishonourable thing. So for once in 
her life Lavinia felt she was called upon to think 
and act for herself. And Alison’s mind was also 
in a tumult, though of misery rather than of per- 
plexity, as she wandered alone down among the 
flat, slippery rocks which the receding tide uncov- 
ered. The restless tossing of the sea left in the wake 
of the storm, and the wailing wind which seemed 
almost spent by the night’s fury, filled her with the 
sympathy of Nature’s touch. Her eyes were 
blinded with tears, and big sobs caught in her throat 
as she realised what she had both gained and lost. 
She loved Jim Cary with no mere girlish fancy, but 
with a woman’s heart : and she knew that he loved 
her with the one big love of his life. Yet between 
them was a barrier which could not be broken. She 
thought too well of the doctor to want him to jilt 
Lavinia; but the anguish of her heart lay in the 
knowledge that her aunt did not really care for her 


3 j 6 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


lover in the deep, true way that is only worthy of the 
name of love. And so the inevitable sacrifice of 
the joy of two lives would only be to Lavinia a con- 
ventional satisfaction. 

“ So many little things can make her happy,” 
sobbed the girl, in her lonely sorrow ; “ but there is 
only one possible happiness for him and me. Oh, 
why — why are circumstances so cruel ? ” And ex- 
ceedingly bitter was her cry. 

In the afternoon Jim Cary called at the Old 
House, and to Mrs. Garland’s disapproval of wrecks 
in general — and this one in particular — was added a 
fresh incentive as she noticed that the doctor was 
more changed by the night’s experience than either 
Alison or her aunt. There was a set, strained look 
on his face, and an unnatural sound in his voice, 
that the old lady could not make out, but for which, 
with all her courage, she dared not call the doctor 
to account. 

“ A pretty night’s work of it you all seem to have 
had,” she remarked in an injured voice. 

“ I am afraid you are over-tired,” he said, turn- 
ing to Lavinia, and speaking with a gentleness 
which she had never heard before. 

The tears started to her eyes. 

“ Oh, no ! ” she exclaimed quickly. “ Or, per- 
haps, just a little. I am not accustomed to being 
out so late, and in such excitement.” 

“ And you were not very well to start with,” he 
added kindly. “ Can I do anything for you, La- 
vinia? ” 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


3 T 7 

“ No, thank you, James. I shall be better to- 
morrow.” 

And Jim felt a great rush of pity for poor, faded 
Lavinia. Of pity, that she would never know of that 
great thing which he had only discovered such a 
little while ago, and without which he had been quite 
happy for so many years ; but, having now known it, 
he could never be happy away from it again. And 
he longed to make up to her by his untiring care for 
this immeasurable loss, and to lead her gently and 
safely as some blind person, along life’s way, with 
kindly indulgences and tender little treats, because 
she could not see the glorious view around. So 
Jim became suddenly much more affectionate in his 
manner to Lavinia than of old ; but she saw the pain 
which shadowed his eyes and stencilled deep lines 
on his face, and, knowing whence it came, a great 
pity filled her heart also. 

“ And now you have all sacrificed your lives, 
and health, and goodness knows what, after those 
rubbishy Frenchmen,” said Mrs. Garland snappish- 
ly, “ I suppose they don’t know enough English to 
say a decent thank you ? ” 

The doctor smiled, a white, set smile that had 
no amusement beneath it. 

“ Thank-yous are out of the question under 
some conditions — but they are grateful enough, 
poor chaps ! though we only did our duty, and there 
will always be enough Englishmen to do that with- 
out a thought of thanks. It was a fine sight 
to see some of those sailors take their places so 


3 1 8 A CORNER OF THE WEST 

readily with wives and little children waiting at 
home.” 

“ No finer for them than for you, James,” ob- 
served the old lady, “ for a man’s life is dearer to 
himself than any one else’s can be.” 

“ Not always, Mrs. Garland.” 

And Jim thought how easy last night it would 
have been to die for Alison. Far harder was it to 
live on without her. 

“ It seems to me,” continued Mrs. Garland, 
“ that you will all be the better for a night’s rest. 
There is Alison, with a face like a sheet, gone off 
to the shore on a wild-goose chase for fresh air, or 
some such nonsense. She will be laid up next. I 
wish you would go after her, James, and bring her 
in. She confessed to a little cold, too, this morning.” 

“ I am rather busy ” began the doctor ; but 

the old lady interrupted him. 

“ That is all rubbish ! And, besides, you will 
have plenty of time to go while the tea is brewing.” 

“ Will you come with me? ” asked Jim, turning 
to Lavinia. “ The walk might do you good.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” she cried, with an involuntary 
shrinking, “ I am not strong enough to-day. I will 
— I will come with you to-morrow, James, if you 
will let me.” 

The doctor looked surprised, for Lavinia sounded 
hysterical. But it did not matter. Nothing would 
ever matter again, yet life must go on, and as fa- 
miliarly as possible in spite of the strange unfa- 
miliarity of this oppressive grief. And Jim was 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


3 T 9 


strong to deal with it — not in the old strength that 
could grasp and hold a situation and turn it to his 
own will, but in the new strength that comes to those 
who can suffer in silence, and carry a burden it is 
their duty to bear. 

So when, as he walked seawards, he caught sight 
of Alison down by the water’s edge, and thought of 
how her presence had brightened and filled every 
place for him, and made his much-loved home coun- 
try so infinitely dearer still, his eyes clouded with 
tears, and he bowed his head in a silent appeal for 
help — a help that is more needed even for the dreary 
days of aching loneliness than for the crises of heroic 
sacrifice or sudden death. 

And Alison saw him in the distance, and turned 
with dragging steps to meet him. She had no more 
tears left to cry with, and the pitifulness of her wan 
smile was sadder than her deepest sobs. 

“ Is Grannie wanting me ? ” she asked simply. 
“ I ought to have gone home before. But — but it 
was — nice down here.” 

“ She sent me to fetch you,” he said quietly. 
“ She was afraid you would take cold.” 

“ Oh, no ! I am all right,” and her voice shook 
a little ; but Jim took no notice, and looked straight 
ahead. 

“ Try to have a good night’s rest,” he advised 
her. 

“ Yes, I will. It was such a strain yesterday, 
and we — we got rather over-excited,” and she 
laughed a thin, faint little laugh. 


320 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I know, I know.” 

“ But it will soon be all right again, won't it? ” 
she pleaded pathetically, “ and like it used to be ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! We shall all be better to-morrow, 
and perhaps the sun will shine.” 

“ I wish it would ! ” and a little sob caught her 
breath. 

“ And you will soon be well and — and bright and 
happy again, won’t you ? ” And his face looked 
drawn and withered with his pain. 

“ Of course,” she answered, with a brave at- 
tempt to speak cheerfully. “ And you will, too.” 

“ Yes, yes ! We will have some more nice walks 
and talks when — when this depressing weather is 
over.” 

“ That will be nice. And things will be ordinary 
again, won’t they ? ” 

“ We will make them so,” and she felt a faint 
comfort in the strength of his voice. 

So they went on making pitiful little plans, which 
they both knew must come to nothing, and trying 
to comfort each other with a comfort that neither 
had the power to bestow. 

“ You see the wreck, and all that, was very up- 
setting to the nerves,” said Alison, when a pause 
became dangerous. 

“ But you don’t feel ill, do you ? ” he asked anx- 
iously. 

“ Oh ! no ; quite well. Only tired, and — and 
wanting a rest.” 

“ I can’t come in again,” he said, as they walked 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


321 

up the lane. “ Will you explain to them that I 
was obliged to go back to my work ? ” 

“ And — you won’t look so fagged to-morrow, 
will you, Dr. Cary ? ” she begged him. And then, 
with a half-cry, she added, “Promise me you won’t.” 

“ I shall be all right, little one,” and the tender- 
ness crept back into his voice, “ if you will, too. 
And promise me that — that you will be impertinent 
again soon,” and he strode away before she had time 
to answer, lest she should see the quivering of his 
lips. 

When Alison went indoors, and took her accus- 
tomed place with that unaccustomed look of sor- 
row on her sweet face, Lavinia’s heart was full. She 
was very fond of her niece, and there was a stricken 
look about the girl that would have melted a harder 
heart than Lavinia’s. 

“ You are sickening for some complaint, in my 
opinion,” observed Mrs. Garland to her grand- 
daughter cheerfully. 

“We shall know in a fortnight,” replied Alison, 
with a weak attempt at a laugh. “ But you need 
not worry, Grannie, I am only overdone.” 

“ Overdone, indeed ! And what with, I should 
like to know ? ” The old lady was distressed by 
the present inexplicably troubled state of affairs, 
and she showed her distress by general displeasure. 
“ The young people are different now to what they 
were in my girlhood. Overdoing, and nerves, and 
such-like rubbish ! I do not know what this gen- 
eration is coming to ! ” 


322 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ I think, Mother dear, if you will kindly excuse 
me,” said Lavinia meekly, “ I will go to bed early 
to-night. I need the rest.” 

“ The best you could do, in my opinion. And 
take another dose of nitre and soda, Lavinia. It 
will do you good.” 

So Lavinia went to bed, but not to rest. She re- 
hearsed over and over again what she should say 
to Jim on the morrow ; and by and by, with the first 
gleams of dawn, came a peace upon her tired spirit. 
And a faint joy sprang up in her heart at the sight 
of the new day, for she knew that to her it was given 
to wipe out this trouble from two dear lives and she 
had made up her mind to do it, cost what it might, 
before that day was dead. 

Alison was braver and brighter that morning. 
She, too, had passed a night of prayers and tears, 
and rose strengthened to go on her way. 

“ Will you stay with Mother this afternoon, 
Alison?” Lavinia asked her as they left the 
dinner-table. “ I am going out for a walk with 
James.” 

And Alison readily assented. 

The doctor smiled as Lavinia met him in the 
lane. He looked worn and ill, but his voice rang 
kindly as he said how glad he was to see her. 

“ I believe this is the first walk you have ever 
planned for yourself, Lavinia.” 

“ Perhaps it is, James. But I want a talk with 
you to-day.” 

“ Is anything the matter with the hens ? Or is 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


323 

there mutiny in the Sunday-school ? ” he asked, 
half-amused. 

“ Neither/’ Lavinia took the trouble to explain. 
“ It is of ourselves that I wish to speak, James.” 

Then the doctor looked serious. 

“ Lavinia,” he said earnestly. “ Do you remem- 
ber that evening so many years ago, when I wanted 
you to fix our wedding-day, and you made me prom- 
ise never to broach that subject again until you gave 
me leave? Well, I want to say now, before you 
speak, that on any day which you may now fix I 
shall be ready to make you my wife.” 

Lavinia’s eyes filled with tears at the generosity 
of his words. 

“ It may be that I have wronged you,” he went 
on, “ in being content to wait so long. But I wanted 
to please you, and do the best for you that I could. 
And if it was a mistake, forgive me, Lavinia.” 

She laid a trembling hand on his arm. 

“ I want to thank you, James, for all your good- 
ness to me — indeed I have nothing to forgive ; you 
have been far too kind. But I want to tell you also 
that I have been thinking over matters, and — and — 
I am not fitted for any other life than this, nor should 
I be happy now in it. So, James, I feel the time has 
come for our engagement to be at an end.” 

“ At an end ! ” exclaimed the doctor, aghast. “ I 
do not understand you. What do you mean ? ” 

“ You must not be vexed, James,” and Lavinia 
panted at this daring deception on her part, “ but I 
know that what I am saying is for the best. I shall 


324 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


never leave my mother, and I would rather know 
that I am not bound by any engagement. I shall be 
happier free — indeed I shall/' And that was the 
first lie Lavinia had told in her life. 

“ Have you ceased to care for me, Lavinia ? ” 

“ Not as a dear friend, James. But I do not 
think I care in that other way — not as a wife should. 
And it must not break our — our friendship," and 
Lavinia’s voice shook. 

“ Nothing can do that," cried Jim, his brain in 
a whirl. “ But are you sure, Lavinia? Sure that 
your decision is for your own happiness above 
everything ? " 

“ I am, dear James." And so Lavinia told her 
second lie. 

“I do not know what to say to you, or whether to 
let you have your own way after all," and he smiled 
slightly, for Jim Cary had ruled so long that it 
never struck him that he might one day have to 
obey. And this happened to be the day. 

Lavinia drew herself up with a new dignity — 
the dignity of a true self-sacrifice — and she said quite 
quietly, but very decidedly : 

“ I must be the judge of this matter, James, see- 
ing that I am the person involved. And I now tell 
you once and for all that our engagement is at an 
end, though I trust our friendship will be a life-long 
one." 

He clasped her hand in silence. 

“ You must not be angry with me, James." La- 
vinia could not command for long. “ It is for the 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


325 

best, I know, and you will agree with me — soon, I 
hope.’’ 

Then he stooped down and kissed her pale brow. 

“ You are sure you are doing what is best for 
yourself ? ” he repeated anxiously. 

“ Quite sure, James.” And perhaps Lavinia was 
right, though the truth was as yet hid from her 
eyes. 

“ I will let them know at home/’ she added after 
a few moments’ silence, “ and explain that it is en- 
tirely my own doing.” 

“ If you will have it so,” he answered slowly. 

“ That subject is now closed for ever, Tames.” 

And the doctor accepted her decree. 

When Lavinia reached home again with an un- 
usual spot of colour on her cheeks, she found Alison 
reading aloud to Mrs. Garland. 

“ You look feverish, Lavinia,” exclaimed the old 
lady. “ It is my opinion that both you and Alison 
contracted some disease that night in the crowd, and 
in your case it is developing first.” 

“ The wind has caught my face, mother. It is 
rather cold to-day.” 

“ You and Alison might have changed places, to 
look at the colour of your face and the whiteness 
of hers.” 

And Lavinia smiled as she saw the hidden truth 
that lurked in those unconscious words. She and 
Alison had changed places indeed. Her niece sat 
on a footstool beside the fireplace, and she held out 
her hand to Lavinia. 


326 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


i( I am so glad you have had a nice walk, Aunt 
Vinnie, and feel freshened up.” 

“ Yes, dear, thank you.” 

And Lavinia felt a thrill of triumph in the 
thought that it was she, and she alone, who was go- 
ing to make Alison bright and happy again. The 
girl’s face looked so pinched and wan, and there was 
such a world of misery in her big, dark eyes, though 
her lips smiled bravely and she tried to talk naturally 
to her grandmother and aunt. 

There is almost a pleasure in lingering over a 
grief which we are just about to cure — no anguish 
in seeing tears that we know we can dry. We stop 
for a moment before we speak the healing word, 
and so heighten the joy of the relief we bring. Per- 
haps it is this feeling that, in the Light of Another 
World, takes all the bitterness from the hearts of 
those who love us and yet watch our grief. They 
see how short is the night of weeping, how near and 
bright and perfect the morning’s joy ; and so, with 
tender pity for the passing woe, they can still be 
glad because the time of healing is so close at hand. 

The feeling of power was a new one to Lavinia 
— and there was an exhilaration in having acted on 
her own account for once, which almost made her 
merry as she dispensed the tea. 

Alison wondered at the change, but thought that 
of course it was Jim who had, in some way, come 
to the rescue, and made Lavinia happy again. 
Wherein she was most utterly mistaken. 

After she had gone upstairs to bed that evening 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 327 

her aunt braced herself to break the news to Mrs. 
Garland, and to Lavinia this was the hardest task 
of all. 

“ Mother/’ she began timidly, her poor lips 
parched and shrivelled with terror, “ I have some- 
thing to tell you which, I fear, may disturb you, 
and of which I am afraid you will disapprove. But 
— but — it had to be so — indeed it had ! ” 

The old lady looked up sharply. 

“Well, out with it! Do not let us have any 
beating about the bush.” 

Lavinia’s breath came in choking gasps, and she 
trembled so that she could hardly speak. She felt 
just as she used to when her mother bade her speak 
out in the old days and when the speaking involved 
a severe punishment, which was agony to the sensi- 
tive child. 

“ I have broken off my engagement,” she whis- 
pered hoarsely. “ Oh, Mother ! Do not be angry 
with me. I cannot bear it — now.” 

Mrs. Garland dropped her knitting in amaze- 
ment. 

“ Goodness gracious ! ” she exclaimed. “ And 
what ever for ? ” 

“ I could not leave you, and my dear home 
here,” explained Lavinia hurriedly. “And it was 
not fair to go on like this, unless I intended to get 
married some day; and oh, Mother! I could not 
change everything now and begin a new life. I am 
so much happier with you — and — and — I think 
James will be happier, too.” 


328 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Why did you not consult me ? ” asked her 
mother severely. 

“ I don’t know,” said Lavinia faintly. “ But you 
will forgive me, Mother, will you not?” 

Mrs. Garland sat in silent meditation for a few 
minutes, and then she spoke : 

“ Well, since you did not consult me, there is 
no more to be said about that, but if you had, I 
am of opinion that I should have agreed with your 
course of action, Lavinia.” 

It was her daughter’s turn now to be surprised. 
That her mother should approve of her was beyond 
her wildest flights of imagination. 

“ You see, my dear,” continued the old lady, 
“ you are not so young as you were ten years ago, 
and you have settled down, especially since Alison 
came, into quite the maiden aunt.” 

“ Yes, I know, Mother.” 

“ And a man cannot stand old-maidish ways, 
Lavinia. Their tempers are bad enough when they 
have married angels ; but if they are tried a bit ex- 
tra in any way, why, Heaven help their wives ! ” 

“ James has always been very patient with me.” 

“ I wish you would not interrupt me, Lavinia, 
when I am just talking the matter over. That is 
another of your tiresome ways. Why, many a hus- 
band would strike you for that.” 

Lavinia bent her head to the storm, which 
was not, by some miracle, actually breaking upon 
her action, but yet was flashing and muttering all 
round. 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


329 


“ And I really could not have spared you during 
my lifetime, and that may be as long as yours — 
longer I often think, now you have grown so 
pinched and peaky. Your father was not a long 
liver either, you see, and you have always taken after 
him amazingly. Then, my dear, there is no deny- 
ing it — marriage is a very upsetting thing, especially 
with a masterful man like James. You never have 
another bit of peace until the Lord has seen fit 
to take them, and that is a trying outlook for 
such a poor-spirited, delicate thing as you are. 
In my opinion he would outlive you by many 
years.” 

Lavinia took her mother's hand in her thin cold 
fingers, and pressed it gently in gratitude. 

“ And you see your habits are all formed now, 
Lavinia, and you cannot be changed in your ways 
all in a minute. In fact, never at your age. And 
woe to the woman who cannot be changed to fit into 
every fad and fangle of the man she has married, if 
he happens to be of the sort who have wills of their 
own ! For my part I chose one without, and so was 
blessed accordingly.” 

Lavinia nodded. 

“ So, though I think it was a strange oversight 
on your part not to consult your mother, and one 
for which Providence might have seen fit to punish 
you for the rest of your life, still through a very 
merciful interposition you seem to have been guided 
rightly, Lavinia, even without my advice, and I do 
think it is best as it now is.” 


22 


330 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


“ Oh, Mother ! you have removed such a load 
from my heart,” cried Lavinia, kneeling at her 
mother’s side, “ for without your approval I could 
never be happy.” 

“ Of course not, my dear.” 

But the old lady graciously patted her head, as 
a sign of marked approbation. It had never oc- 
curred to Mrs. Garland in her life to kiss any one be- 
tween meals, so to speak. 

“Alison, dear, may I come into your room?” 
asked Lavinia, knocking at the girl’s door on her 
way up to bed. “ I want to tell you something.” 

Alison’s heart turned sick and cold. Surely it 
must be of her long-delayed wedding that Lavinia 
wished to speak, and she felt that this would be too 
hard to bear just yet. So the bitterness of her grief 
swept over her as some overwhelming wave, and 
threatened to drown her girlhood in its depths. 

“ I want to tell you, dear,” continued her aunt, 
“ that James and I are no longer engaged. I broke 
it off myself this afternoon.” 

“ What ! ” cried Alison, “ I do not understand ! ” 

“ You see, my dear, that I am getting older, and 
my life runs very smoothly in this home groove, and 
I felt that I could not ever change it now for a new 
home and new duties. And so it seemed wrong to 
continue an engagement which was only one in 
word, and not in deed or truth, and I told James 
so to-day.” 

“ And what did he say ? ” gasped Alison. 

“ He was very good to me,” and Lavinia’s lips 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 331 

trembled, “ but he had no choice in the matter, my 
dear. I decided it.’’ 

Alison was amazed. There was a quiet strength 
in her aunt's voice which had never been there be- 
fore, for it was only during the last two days that 
Lavinia had at last grown up. 

“ I have been explaining it to Mother," her aunt 
went on, “ and that has rather upset me, for I feared 
she might be vexed at my acting for myself in a 
matter of such importance." Lavinia did not see 
that it was just because the matter was of such im- 
portance that she ought to have acted for herself. 
“ But she was very kind, and said that perhaps I 
was getting too old-maidish to think of marrying 
any one. And I know she could not spare me either. 
Indeed she says so." 

It did not strike Lavinia that her mother at the 
far end of life had no right to claim all that might 
have come to brighten her lot at life’s beginning, or 
at any rate before she had gone half-way. 

Alison knelt down by her aunt, and clasped the 
slender figure close in her strong young arms. 

“ I hope it will be for your happiness," she said 
softly, “ for you deserve to be happy, dear ; you are 
so good." 

“ Oh, no ! " demurred Lavinia ; and then she 
went on dreamily : “ One gets so into the way of 
drifting, that one loses sight of how far one has 
come. And you see, Alison dear, on that night of 
the wreck we all entered, as it were, into the court- 
yard of death, and we stood waiting and wondering 


332 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


whether any would receive the call. And things 
look different when we are as near to the Unseen 
as that, and a truer light seems to shine, and we 
know more about ourselves and other people.” 

“ Yes, I know,” whispered Alison, and her eyes 
were wet with tears. 

“ So it was then I saw my — my mistake ; and it 
is not too late for me to put matters straight, I hope. 
My life has been a very peaceful, happy one,” 
and Alison’s tears fell at the pathos of that past 
tense, “ and I — I want other people to be happy, 
too.” 

Then Lavinia broke down, and the two women 
sobbed together, still holding each other fast. 

“ How foolish I am,” cried Lavinia, after a little 
while, “ for it seems as if I were unhappy, and, in- 
deed, I am not. I feel a new happiness, somehow, 
that is more active than the old passive happiness, 
and there is nothing to cry about at all.” 

“ Are you sure there is not ? ” asked Alison wist- 
fully. 

“ Yes, my dear. And, listen, I want you to un- 
derstand once for all that it is because I feel it will 
be for my own happiness and welfare in the end, 
and because the duties and responsibilities involved 
would be too much for me, that I have brought my 
engagement to an end. I told James so this after- 
noon.” 

And, being a man, Jim had accepted the state- 
ment simply, and believed it on Lavinia’s word : be- 
ing a woman, Alison, with more subtle insight, saw 


THE ALTAR OF SACRIFICE 


333 


through the spoken word, and understood. But she 
accepted the statement all the same, and, with a 
heart full of tenderness, kissed the thin, white hands 
that thought they had so safely and successfully 
hidden Lavinia’s secret sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XV 


CONCLUSION 

Gradually things slipped back on to the old 
familiar lines again, but it was very gradually, and 
there was a difference underneath of which Jim Cary 
and Alison could not be unconscious. To Lavinia, 
when the storm and struggle were once over, the 
change was hardly perceptible. She settled down 
so quickly and readily into the friendship stage with 
the doctor; and, indeed, it was only in name that 
their relationship for a long while had been other- 
wise. Moreover she had, by that one act of heroic 
self-sacrifice, raised herself on to a higher plane of 
life, where the light was brighter, and the view a 
little wider, and the atmosphere fresher and more 
bracing. The daily round of small interests she 
felt she could now freely enjoy, with no cloud of 
heavier responsibilities threatening to hide them 
from her loving eyes. The home groove in which 
she was so happy, had now no barrier which need 
turn her steps elsewhere. She was at rest and at 
peace — a rest and peace which come to every 
one who bows in reverent obedience to Divine 
Authority, and believes, in spite of all contrary 


334 


CONCLUSION 335 

inclinations and appearances, that God knows 
best. 

But to the other two Lavinia’s action had altered 
the whole of life’s outlook. In a short time the slight 
stiffness and constraint in Jim’s manner wore away, 
and then Alison began to laugh and play again ; 
and her boyish ways, that had been so completely 
laid aside, came back, and brought with them the 
old dashes of defiance and impertinence and merri- 
ness which Jim loved so well, and feared were lost 
for ever. Though he longed to tell her of his love, 
now that he was a free man — and he had always 
been an impatient one — there was something about 
Alison that sealed his lips and kept matters back 
all through the winter days. At times he feared 
whether after all he had been mistaken on the night 
of the wreck, and seen only the anxiety of a friend 
on Alison’s face instead of the anguish of a lover. 
And through thinking so much of it he blurred it 
into confusion, and knew not whether the girl cared 
for him or no. And she was waiting for the healing 
touch of time on Lavinia’s secret wound, of which 
Jim had no knowledge ; and she shrank from ex- 
posing her aunt to the sometimes carelessly rough 
contact with another’s joy, until she felt its power 
of hurting would be diminished. So spring came 
round again to Barnscombe, with all its wealth of 
beauty and blossom, and the promise of a new life 
in the stirring woods, and opening flowers, and sing- 
ing birds. And the sea forgot the wailing of the 
winter storms and smiled in the face of spring, and 


336 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


caught the sunbeams in its arms and rocked them 
there to sleep. The tall white hemlock ran up in 
graceful wreaths to meet the snowy May-blossom 
of the hedges, and so lined all the lanes with white. 
The buttercups came back to gild the meadow-land, 
and the wild hyacinths lay in a haze of blue along the 
woods. Truly there never was so fair a spring be- 
fore, even in the fair west country, thought Alison 
in wondering delight as she roamed through fields 
and lanes, by hillside, and across the sandy burrows 
in the hollows of which grew the rarest wild flowers 
of the land. And she was right; for to her there 
never had been, nor ever would be, another spring 
quite so perfect and so fair. 

We most of us know one such spring, and the 
memory of it, whether it be hidden in a fuller hap- 
piness or an aching sadness, will always be among 
our dearest treasures, until we find it again laid 
up for us in Heaven. And Jim felt that the long 
stretch of years behind him was but a short waiting- 
time for such brightness and beauty as this. He 
had never known, before Alison came into it, that 
life could be so blessed a thing ; even though he had 
enjoyed in a healthy, manly way, all that was good 
in it, and had been utterly free from the morbid in- 
trospection and racking nerve tension which sap 
so much of man's strength in these modern days. 
With him the danger had lain in entirely the op- 
posite direction. To be content because he felt 
things too little ; to be happy with the second-best in 
ignorance that there was a best to find ; to feel that 


CONCLUSION 


337 


his circumstances were in his own hands, and that 
he could always succeed where he would ; to glory 
in his own strength, as that of a master, instead of 
rejoicing in it as a power to serve. But when the 
touch of a true love made him suddenly halt, all this 
was changed. The simple self-confidence which 
marks the man who has always had success within 
his reach forsook him, and left him diffident and 
doubtful ; the easy assurance which is second na- 
ture to a man who is personally attractive, and who 
has always had a good position socially, melted in 
the consciousness that he was growing old and pos- 
sibly past his prime, while the girl he loved had 
hardly reached hers as yet; the careless freedom 
from all pecuniary responsibility which is the herit- 
age of those who need not work for their living be- 
came changed into a regret that he had so little to 
offer a wife ; and, most of all, the comfortable feel- 
ing that he had always done his duty, and held his 
head high in the sight of the world, gave place to 
a longing to grow worthier of such a gift as love, 
and to learn from the humblest beginning all the 
stores of knowledge, of hope, and of faith, to which 
love itself is the key. 

It was on an early day in that matchless May 
time that Jim Cary and Alison walked through the 
very woods in which George Lumsden had painted 
Petronel so many years ago. The doctor glanced 
with admiration at the girl’s tall, graceful form, 
and thought how wonderful it was that he had been 
kept just standing still, while she outgrew the pina- 


338 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


fores and sun-bonnets which in those days she must 
have worn. Her laughing face and merry ways 
filled him with a half-dread lest his hope after all 
was a false one, and her affection for him only that 
of the child which was so integral a part of her char- 
acter. 

“ How dull you are to-day/’ she was saying. 
“ A penny for your thoughts, sir.” 

“ I was thinking what a lovely day it is.” 

“ For shame ! To talk about the weather may be 
a social necessity, but to think about it is shocking. 
I could not possibly give you a penny for that.” 

“ But that was only the beginning of my 
thoughts,” he explained, “ as it is never anything 
but the beginning of a conversation. You must not 
be so impatient.” 

“ The afternoon is young as yet,” she replied re- 
signedly, “ and I am all attention, sir.” 

“ I was thinking,” he said slowly, “ about that 
bow of ribbon in your hat. It is so different from 
any I have ever seen before.” 

“ Woollands sold many hundreds exactly like it 
last year,” observed Alison demurely. 

“ Oh, no, they did not ! ” exclaimed Jim. “ I 
am afraid you are a bit stupid to-day. There never 
was another sailor hat quite like yours, and you 
ought to know such a simple little thing without my 
having to tell you.” 

“ I like hats trimmed with association,” said 
Alison. “ Doesn’t that sound like football col- 
ours?” 


CONCLUSION 


339 


Jim smiled. 

“ There is a lot of trimming on that hat of yours, 
though an outsider would think it was only a band 
of ribbon.” 

“ I am always happy in a sailor hat, somehow,' ” 
the girl went on. “ It is funny how one is so much 
happier in some clothes than others. Dresses seem 
to be lucky sometimes, and if they begin so, they 
generally keep so. I always behaved well but felt 
sad in my bridesmaid’s frock.” 

“ You do not always behave well in a sailor hat, 
you know.” 

“ Yes, I do. At least nearly always. Only you 
are so strict, it makes me behave badly sometimes.” 

“ It ought to have an opposite effect,” observed 
Jim. 

“ Oh, no ! because,” and Alison’s eyes twinkled, 
“ when I know a thing is stronger than I am I want 
to fight with it, just to see. And you are always 
stronger than I am, you know. I am glad of that ! ” 

“ Why, little one?” 

“ I should despise a man whom I could master,” 
she replied, with her chin in the air. 

“ I know that. If I had not, perhaps I might not 
always have been quite so strict.” 

“ That was very clever of you ! ” exclaimed 
Alison admiringly. “ But it isn’t much of an effort 
to you to be masterful, is it, Dr. Cary? ” 

“ Take care what you are saying,” he replied 
warningly. “ But perhaps it is a greater effort than 
you think — with you. I want with one side of me to 


340 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


spoil you all the time, but with the other I would 
not do so for the world.” 

“ Which is the side that wants to spoil me ? ” 
asked the girl. “ I should not mind meeting it 
sometimes.” 

“ The outside. It is my instinct to be indulgent 
outside, but,” and his voice grew grave, “ inside it 
is not.” 

“ I like that,” said Alison quickly, “ it appeals 
to me.” 

“ I am glad of that, for I could not alter it if it 
did not.” 

“ Do you know,” and Alison’s face looked 
thoughtful, “ I believe you are cleverer in scolding 
than in anything else. It seems to me sometimes to 
amount to genius.” 

Jim laughed. 

“ Don’t jeer/’ reproved Alison ; “ but you are, 
really. Generally when people scold other people, 
the latter are furious, and make up their minds that 
if they have a single virtue it is illustrated by that 
particular course of action, and that of all the dis- 
agreeable, nasty, unkind, horrid creatures in the 
world the scolders are the worst.” 

“ And where does my genius come in ? ” 

“ Why, you make people feel frightfully sorry 
they have done things, and resolve never to do them 
again, and think how much nicer you are than they 
ever imagined before.” 

“ Do I make you feel all that ? ” And Jim smiled 
down on her very tenderly. 


CONCLUSION 


341 

“ Oh, yes ! I am frightfully sorry, and I resolve 
never to do the thing again.” 

“ Do you? ” interrupted Jim. “ I am surprised 
to hear that, I must confess.” 

“ Of course I do ! Only, resolves are rather like 
gauze frocks — they cannot help not wearing very 
well.” 

“ And what else does it make you think ? ” 

“ Well, afterwards, that you are — nicer than I 
imagined. But then I always imagine that you are 
perfectly horrid — just before. And I am not other 
people, you know, even though I may agree with 
them sometimes.” 

“ Yes, you are. You are all the other people in 
the world to me.” 

Alison laughed nervously. 

“ I have heard of people being a host in them- 
selves.” Then, with a hurried change of subject, 
she exclaimed : “ Don't you like it when the sun 
goes behind little clouds like this, and great shadows 
come racing across the country as if a huge bird 
were flying overhead ? I say,” she continued, look- 
ing up at him half-shyly, “ isn't it funny how the 
sun gets mislaid sometimes, and cannot be found 
anywhere ? ” 

“ When does that happen, little one ? ” 

“ Oh, sometimes ! Perhaps you do not know, 
because it is generally — when you are away.” 

“ Yes, I do know; but I always thought that it 
was you who had hidden it.” 

“ Please, sir, 'twasn't me, sir,” said Alison, with 


342 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


a little laugh. “ And you should not lay the blame 
of things you do on other people. It is very mean ! ” 

“ What a child you are ! ” he exclaimed, with 
a smile. 

“ That is the worst of it,” said Alison, suddenly 
sobered. “ One bit of me never will grow up. I 
feel such a woman sometimes, and such a boy at 
other times ; and it is impossible to reconcile the 
two, though they are both me. I am a kind of 
patchwork, and that is what makes me so horribly 
incongruous.” 

“ I will not allow you to use such a word as 
‘ horribly ' in connection with yourself,” he inter- 
rupted sternly. 

“ Why not?” 

“Because I forbid it. So now you know.” 

“ And people do not understand incongruities,” 
the girl went on, “ and I cannot explain them my- 
self.” 

“ I understand all yours,” he answered gently. 

“ Yes, I know,” and her clear brown eyes looked 
up straight into his. “ You always understand me 
in every mood, and make things always all right.” 

“ Do you really mean that ? ” 

“ You know I do. What makes you so under- 
standing about everything ? ” 

“ Not about everything, I am afraid,” and his 
voice rang in a minor key. “ I am only at the very 
beginning of some understanding, groping my way 
through the alphabet, so to speak.” 

“ Tell me,” she begged, and drew a little nearer. 


CONCLUSION 


343 

Jim Cary looked away into some distance where 
perhaps no other eyes could follow him. 

“ All my life/’ he said slowly, “ I have only really 
believed in that which I could prove. But I have 
found out now that there is a much stronger, and 
dearer, and more vivid life which cannot ever be 
proved, and in which all the realities can only be 
seen by faith. So I know how poor and bald a 
thing is proof for man to live by, when faith and 
hope and love are within his reach. ,, 

“ It is like preferring an addition sum to a great 
picture, isn’t it ? But lots of people do.” 

“ That is because they do not understand,” said 
Jim earnestly. “ I know, for I have come that 
way myself. They take a crude, old-fashioned 
bit of conventional teaching and call it religion. 
And of course it has no hold on their hearts and 
lives.” 

“ Just as they might read the love stories in 
‘ Queechy 9 and ‘ The Wide, Wide World/ and then 
think they know all about love,” added Alison. 

“ You have to be in love yourself before you can 
know what it is.” And Jim looked as if he knew. 

“ And in the same way, you have to be touched 
by a Greater than oneself before you can know what 
religion is.” 

“ You would call it an intuition, as both love 
and genius are ? ” he asked thoughtfully — “ some- 
thing outside ourselves ? ” 

“ Some One outside ourselves,” she answered 
softly, “ at whose touch genius flashes through the 


344 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


brain, and love through the heart, and what men 
call religion through the soul.” 

“ It is difficult to explain this to people who 
are outside,” said Jim, “ and to make them under- 
stand.” 

“ It would be difficult to explain what love is to 
Robin Merrivale,” argued Alison, “ and impossible 
to make him understand — yet. But that does not 
mean that there is no such thing.” And she smiled 
slightly. 

“ Yet if that youngster were to demand a proof, 
the man who is in love could not give him one. I 
never thought of that before.” 

“ It seems to me,” said the girl, “ that proof is 
only just at the very beginning of things. A mental 
course of straight strokes and pothooks, but fear- 
fully crude and poor compared with all that comes 
after.” 

“ And I have spent all these years in that copy- 
book stage,” exclaimed Jim sadly, “ and learned 
nothing else till just lately.” 

“ But there is lots of time,” she interrupted 
gently. 

“ There is not enough time, I am afraid,” he 
replied gravely ; “ but there will be enough of eter- 
nity, I think.” 

Then they sat silent for a while on the old trunk 
of the felled tree, towards which their walks so often 
tended, and at last Jim spoke. * 

“ I am going to tell you a story,” he said 
gravely. 


CONCLUSION 


345 

“ A nice one ? ” queried Alison, who felt an un- 
comfortable lump in her throat. 

“ You can be the judge of that when you have 
heard it. It is rather a sad story, perhaps. ,, 

“ Then do not tell it me,” she begged, laying a 
pleading hand on his coat sleeve. “ It is too sunny 
a day for a sad story/’ 

“ I must tell it you, little one,” and there was a 
great tenderness in his voice. 

Her face paled, and a look of trouble dawned in 
her eyes, and deepened them, but she answered 
nothing. 

“ Once upon a time,” he began, and he looked 
straight ahead as he spoke, “ there was a garden 
wherein grew many sweet flowers, and where the 
uncultivated bits were as full of wild beauty, and as 
fair to look upon, even as the rest. And the sun 
shone on the garden, and sometimes the gentle rain- 
drops fell, and it grew more perfect every day, 
whether through shadow or sunshine. And the 
birds sang there more sweetly than anywhere else, 
and the colouring of the flowers was more perfect. 
One day a man passed by that way — a man who had 
no garden of his own, but lived out on the bleak 
moor where there were no flowers for him to gather, 
and no twittering of birds for him to hear. And he 
stopped to look in admiration on the beauty of the 
garden ; and then, as there was no one by to pre- 
vent him, he walked inside, and found its depths and 
wilds and hollows even fairer than the ways he had 
already seen. Still there was no one to molest him, 
23 


346 


A CORNER OF THE WEST 


and he began to long to work in that garden, and 
plant his favourite flowers amid the tangled beauty 
of the underwood, and make little paths for himself 
where he could wander and rest away from all the 
outside world. Once or twice he saw a stranger 
enter and walk across the garden, and with a fierce 
fury he longed to drive him out, as an intruder, from 
the sweet places which in his own mind he loved to 
call his own. But his anger was stayed by the 
knowledge that he had no right there himself, and 
the time might come when he, too, should be ban- 
ished from the garden that he loved. And the long- 
ing grew upon him to devote his whole life to that 
garden, and make it his very own. But then/’ and 
here Jim's voice failed a little, “ he remembered that 
his whole life was no longer his. Much of it had 
already run its course, and perhaps the arm that 
was so strong now to work would grow too feeble, 
and the vigour which he could now spend would 
gradually fade, and so his garden be neglected. 
And — and the man paused; for truly he loved his 
garden better than himself, and would give, or, 
harder still, give up anything to keep it sunny and 
bright. Perhaps it might be that a younger man 
would be a better gardener, though he could never 
care for the garden more. So the man stood still 
one day, and looked all round with longing eyes 
and — and a sad heart. For outside the garden lay 
the gray wilderness, bleaker and colder than ever 
before. Then he stooped down and laid his hand 
upon a bunch of forget-me-nots which he himself 


CONCLUSION 


347 


had planted there, and he whispered, ‘ Little Garden, 
if I go away, and another worthier gardener comes, 
don’t let him throw away these flowers of ours, but 
keep them, for my sake, growing in the garden I 
shall never cease to love/ ” 

Alison saw that Jim’s eyes were wet with tears, 
and her own lips quivered as she drew near to him. 

“ And then,” he continued, with an effort, “ the 
man ” 

“ Stop ! ” she cried, in a choking voice, “ I know 
the rest better than you do. Listen : the man was 
going away, but he could not after all, because ” 

“ Because what?” Jim interrupted quickly, and 
his face was very white. 

“ Because,” said Alison, looking up at him 
through tear-filled eyes, and burying her hand in 
his big, strong grasp, “ because, though he actually 
did not know it before, the garden happened to 
be his own.” 


THE END 







































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83. The Story of Helen Davenant. By 

V. Fane. 

34. The Light of Her Countenance. By 

H. H. Boyesen. 

35. Mistress Beatrice Cope. By M. E. 

Le Clerc. 

36. The Knight-Errant. By E. Lyall. 

37. In the Golden Days. By E Lyall. 

38. Giraldi. By R. G. Dering. 


39. A Hardy Norseman. By E. Lyall. 

40. The Romance of Jenny Harlowe, and 

Sketches of Maritime Life. By W. 
C. Russell. 

41. Passion's Slave. By R. Ashe-King. 

42. The Awakening of Mary Fenwick. 

By B. Whitby. 

43. Countess Loreley. By R. Menger. 

44. Blind Love. By W. Collins. 

45. The Dean's Daughter. By S. F. F. 

Veitch. 

46. Countess Irene. By J. Fogerty. 

47. Robert Browning'' s Principal Short- 

er Poems. 

48. Frozen Hearts. By G. W. Apple - 

TON. 

49. Djambek the Georgian. By A. G. 

YON SUTTNER. 

50. The Craze of Christian Engelhart. 

By H. F. Darnell. 

51. Lai. By W. A. Hammond, M. D. 

52. Aline. By H. Greville. 

53. Joost Avelingh. By M. Maartens. 

54. Katy of Catoctin. By G. A. Town- 

send. 

55. Throckmorton. By M. E. Seawell. 

56. Expatriation. By the author of 

Aristocracy. 

57. Geoffrey Hampstead. By T. S. 

Jarvis. 

58. Dmitri. By F. W. Bain, M. A. 

59 Part of the Property. By B. Whitby. 

60. Bismarck in Private Life. By a 

Fellow-Student. 

61. In Low Relief. By M. Roberts. 

62. The Canadians of Old. By P. 

Gaspe. 

63. A Squire qf Low Degree. By L. A. 

Long. 

64. A Fluttered Dovecote. By G. M. 

Fenn. 

65. The Nugents of Carriconna. By T. 

Hopkins. 

66. A Sensitive Plant. By E. and D. 

Gerard. 

67. Doha Luz. By J. Valera. Trans- 

lated by Mrs. M. J. Serrano. 

68. Pepita Ximenez. By J. Valera. 

Translated by Mrs. M. J. Ser- 
rano. 

69. The Primes and their Neighbor's. 

By R. M. Johnston. 

70. The Iron Game. By H. F. Keenan. 

71. Stories of Old New Spain. By T. 

A. Janvier. 

72. The Maid of Honor. By Hon. L. 

Wingfield. 

73. In the Heart of the Storm. By M. 

Gray. 

74. Consequences. By E. Castle. 


APPLETONS 1 TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY . — {Continued A 


75. The Three Miss Kings. By A. 
Cambridge. 

IS. A Matter of Skill. By B. Whitby. 

77. Maid Marian, and Other Stories. 

By M. E. Seawell. 

78. One Woman's Way . By E. Pen- 

dleton. 

79. A Merciful Divorce . By F. W. 

Maude. 

80. Stephen Ellicott's Daughter . By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

81. One Reason Why. By B. Whitby. 

82. The Tragedy of Ida Noble. By 

W. C. Russell. 

88. The Johnstovm Stage, and Other 
Stories. By R. H. Fletcher. 

84. AWidower Indeed. By R. Brough- 

ton and E. Bisland. 

85. The Flight of a Shadow. By G. 

MacDonald. 

86. Love o?' Money. By K. Lee. 

87. Not A ll in Vain. By A. Cambridge. 

88. It Happened Yesterday. By F. 

Marshall. 

89. My Guardian. By A. Cambridge. 

90. The Story of Philip Methuen. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

91. Amethyst. By C. R. Coleridge. 

92. Don Braulio. By J Valera. 

Translated by C. Bell. 

93. The Chronicles of Mr. Bill Wil- 

liams. By R. M. Johnston. 

94. A Queen of Cui'ds and Ci'eam. By 

D. Gerard. 

95. “ La Bella " and Others. By E. 

Castle 

96. “ December Roses." By Mrs. Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

97. Jean de Kerdren. By J. Schultz. 

98. Etelka's Vow. By D. Gerard. 

99. Crosscurrents. By M. A. Dickens. 

100. His Life's Magnet. By T. Elmglie. 

101. Passing the Love of Women. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

102. In Old St. Stephen's. By J. Drake. 

103. The Berkeleys and their Neighboi'S. 

By M. E. Seawell. 

104. Mona Maclean, Medical Student. 

By G. Travers. 

105. Mrs. Bligh. By R. Broughton. 

106. A Stumble on the Threshold. By 

J. Payn. 

107. Hanging Moss. By P. Lindau. 

108. A Comedy of Elopement. By C. 

Reid. 

109. In the Suntime qf her Youth. By 

B. Whitby. 

110. Stories in Black and White. By T. 

Hardy and Others. 

110£. An Englishman in Pans. 

111. Commander Mendoza. By J. Va- 

lera. 

112. Dr. Pauli's Theory. By Mrs. A. M. 

Diehl. 


113. Children of Destiny. By M. E. 

Seawell. 

114. A Little Minx. By A. Cambridge. 

115. Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon. By H. 

Caine. 

116. The Voice of a Flower. By E. 

Gerard. 

117. Singidaiiy Deluded. ByS. Grand. 

118. Suspected. By L. Stratenus. 

119. Lucia, Hugh , and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

120. The Tutor's Secret. By V. Cher- 

buliez. 

121. Prom the Five Rivers. By Mrs, F. 

A. Steel. 

122. An Innocent Impostor, and Othet 

Stories. By M. Gray. 

123. Ideala. By S. Grand. 

124. A Comedy of Masks. By E. Dow- 

son and A. Moore. 

125. Relics. By F. MacNab. 

126. Dodo: A Detail of the Day. By 

E. F. Benson. 

127. A Woman of Forty. By E. Stuart. 

128. Diana Tempest. By M. Cholmon- 

deley. 

129. The Recipe for Diamonds. By C. 

J. C. Hyne. 

130. Christina Chard. By Mrs. Camp 

bell-Praed. 

131. A Gray Eye or So. By F. F 

Moore. 

132. Earlscourt. By A. Allardyce. 

133. A Marriage Cei'emony. By A. 

Cambridge. 

134. A Wai'd in Chancery. By Mrs. 

Alexander. 

136. Lot 13. By D. Gerard. 

136. Our Manifold Nature. By S. 

Grand. 

137. A Costly Freak. By M. Gray. 

138. A Beginner. By R. Broughton. 

139. A Yellow Aster. By Mrs. M. Cap* 

fyn (“ Iota”). 

140. The Rubicon. By E. F. Benson. 

141. The Trespasser. By G. Parker. 

142. The Rich Miss Riddell. By D. 

Gerard. 

143. Mary Fenwick's Daughter. By B. 

Whitby 

144. Red Diamonds. By J. McCarthy- 

145. A Daughter of Music. By G. Col- 

more’. 

146. Outlaiv and Laivmaker. By Mrs. 

Campbell-Praed. 

147. Dr. Janet of Harley Street. By A. 

Kenealy. 

148. Georae Mancleville's Husband. By 

C. E. Raimond. 

149. Vashti and Esther. 

150. Timar'8 Two Worlds. By M. 

Jokai. 

151. A Victim of Good Luck. By W. E. 

Norris. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY— ( Continued.) 


152. The Trail of the Sword. By G. 

Parker. 

153. A Mild Barbarian. By E. Faw- 

cett. 

154. The God in the Gar. By A. 

Hope. 

155. Children of Circumstance. By Mrs. 

M. Caffyn. 

156. At the Gate of Samaria. By W. J. 

Locke. 

157. The Justification of Andrew Le- 

brun. By F. Barrett. 

158. Dust and Laurels. By M. L. Pen- 

dered. 

159. The Good Ship Mohock. By W. C. 

Russell. 

160. Noemi. By S. Baring- Gould. 

161. The Honour of Savelli. By S. L. 

Yeats. 

162. Kitty's Engagement. By F. War- 

den. 

163. The Mermaid. By L. Dougall. 

164. An Arranged Marriage . By D. 

Gerard. 

165. Eve's Ransom. By G. Gissing. 

166. The Marriage of Esther. By G. 

Boothby. 

167. Fidelis. By A. Cambridge. 

168. Into the Highways and Hedges. By 

F. F. Montrissor. 

169. The Vengeance of James Vansittart. 

By Mrs. J. H. Needell. 

170. A Study in Prejudices. By G. 

Paston. 

171. The Mistress of Quest. By A. Ser- 

geant. 

172. In the Year of Jubilee. By G. Gis- 

sing. 

173. In Old New England. By H. 

Butterworth. 

174. Mrs. Musgrave— and Her Husband. 

By R. Marsh. 

175. Not Counting the Cost. By Tasma. 

176. Out of Due Season. By A. Ser- 

geant. 

177. Scylla or Charybdis? By R. 

Broughton. 

178. In Defiance of the King. By C. C. 

Hotchkiss. 

179. A Bid for Fortune. By G. 

Boothby. 

180. The King of Andaman. By J. M. 

Cobban. 

181. Mrs. Tregaskiss. By Mrs. Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

182. The Desire of the Moth. By C. 

Vane. 

183. A Self-Denying Ordinance. By M. 

Hamilton. 

184. Successors to the Title. By Mrs. L. 

B. Walford. 

185. The Lost Stradivarius. By J. M. 

Falkner. 

186. The Wrong Man. By D. Gerard. 


187. In the Day of Adversity. By J. 

Blo undelle-Burton . 

188. Mistress Dorothy Marvin. By J. C. 

Snaith. 

189. A Flash of Summer. By Mrs. W. 

K. Clifford. 

190. The Dancer in Yellow. By W. E„ 

Norris. 

191. The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt . 

By A. Morrison. 

192. A Winning Hazard. By Mrs. 

Alexander. 

193 Ihe Picture of Las Cruces. By C. 
Reid. 

194. The Madonna of a Day. By L. 

Dougall. 

195. The Riddle Ring. By J. McCar- 

thy. 

196. A Humble Enterprise. By A. Cam- 

bridge. 

197. Dr. Nikola. By G. Boothby. 

198. An Outcast of the Islands. By J. 

Conrad. 

199. The King's Revenge. By C. Bray. 

200. Denounced. By J. Bloundelle- 

Burton. 

201. A Court Intrigue. By B. Thomp- 

son. 

202. The Idol-Maker. By A. Sergeant. 

203. The Intriguers. By J. D. Barry. 

204. Master Ardick, Buccaneer. By F. 

H. Costello. 

205. With Fortune Made. By Y. Cher- 

BULIEZ. 

206. Fellow Travellers. By G. Travers. 

207. McLeod of the Camerons. By M. 

Hamilton. 

208. The Career of Candida. By G. 

Paston. 

209. Arrested. By E. Stuart. 

210. Tatterley. By T. Gallon. 

211. A Pinchbeck Goddess. By Mrs. J. 

M. Fleming (A. M. Kipling). 

212. Perfection City. By Mrs. Orpen. 

213. A Spotless Reputation. By D. 

Gerard. 

214. A Galahad of the Creeks. By S. L. 

Yeats. 

215. The Beautiful White Devil. By G. 

Boothby. 

216. The Sun of Saratoga. By J. A. 

Altsheler. 

217. Fierceheart , the Soldier. By J. Co 

Snaith. 

218. Marietta's Marriage. By W. E. 

Norris. 

219. Dear Faustina. By R. Broughton. 

220. Niilma. By Mrs. Campbell-Praed. 

221. The Folly of Pen Harrington. By 

J. Sturgis. 

222. A Colonial Free-Lance. By C. C. 

Hotchkiss. 

228. His Majesty's Greatest Subject. By 
S. S. Thorburn. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY.— ( Continued.) 


224. Mifanwy : A Welsh Singer. By A. 

Raine. 

225. A Soldier of Manhattan. By J. A. 

A T PR 

226. Fortune's Footballs. By G. B. 

Burgin. 

227. The Clash of Arms. By J. Bloun- 

delle-Burton. 

228. God's Foundling. By A. J. Daw- 

son. 

229. Miss Providence. By D. Gerard. 

230. The Freedom of Henry Meredyth. 

By M. Hamilton. 

231. Sweethearts and Friends. By M. 

Gray. 

232. Sunset. By B. Whitby. 

233. A Fiery Ordeal. By Tasma. 

234. A Prince of Mischance. ByT. Gal- 

lon. 

235. A Passionate Pilgrim. By P. 

White. 

236. This Little World. By D. C. Mur- 

ray. 

237. A Forgotten Sin. By D. Gerard. 

238. The Incidental Bishop. By G. 

Allen. 

239. The Lake of Wine. By B. Capes. 

240. A Trooper of the Empress. By C. 

Ross. 

241. Torn Sails. By A. Raine. 

242. Materfamilias. By A. Cambridge. 

243. John of Strathbourne. By R. D. 

Chetwode. 

244. The Millionaires. By F. F. Moore. 

245. The Looms of Time. By Mrs. H. 

Fraser. 

246. The Queen's Cup. By G. A. Henty. 

247. Dicky Monteith. By T. Gallon. 

248. The Lust of Hate. By G. Boothby. 

249. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Ar- 

thur Paterson. 

250. The Widower. By W. E. Norris. 

251. The Scourge of God. By J. 

Bloundelle -Rurton . 

252. Concerning Isabel Carnaby. By 

Ellen T horne ycroft Fowler. 

253. The Impediment. By Dorothea 

Gerard. 


254. Belinda— and Some Others. By 

Ethel Maude. 

255. The Key of the Holy House. By 

Albert Lee. 

256. A Winter of Books. By George 

Paston. 

257. The Knight of the Golden Chain. 

By R. D. Chetwode. 

258. Bicroft of Withens. By Halli- 

well Sutcliffe. 

259. The Procession of Life. By Hor- 

ace A. Vachell. 

260. By Berwen Banks. By Allen 

Raine. 

261. Pharos , the Egyptian. By Guy 

Boothby. 

262. Paul Carah, Cornishman. By 

Charles Lee. 

263. Pursued by the Law. By J. Mac- 

laren Cobban. 

264. Madame Izan. By Mrs. Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

265. Fortune's my Foe. By J. Bloun- 

delle-Burton. 

266. A Cosmopolitan Comedy. By 

Anna Robeson Brown. 

267. The Kingdom of Hate. By T. 

Gallon. 

268. The Game and the Candle. By 

Rhoda Broughton. 

269. Dr. Mikola's Experiment. By 

Guy Boothby. 

270. The Strange Story of Hester 

Wynne. By G. Colmore. 

271. Lady Barbarity. By J. C. Snaith. 

272. A Bitter Heritage. By John 

Bloundelle-Burton. 

273. The Heiress of the Season. By Sir 

William Magnay, Bart. 

274. A Voyage at Anchor. By W. 

Clark Russell. 

275. The Idol of the Blind. By T. 

Gallon. 

276. A Corner of the West. By Edith 

Henrietta Fowler. 

277. The Story of Bonald Kestrel. By 
A. J. Dawson. 


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“ A story of absorbing interest and one that will add greatly to the author’s 
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DUET, WITH AN OCCASIONAL CHORUS. 

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NOVELS BY MAARTEN MAARTENS. 


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ER MEM OR Y. With Photogravure Portrait. 

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'J'HE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life. 

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day in intellectual subtlety and imaginative power .” — Boston Beacon. 


G 


OD’S FOOL. 


* Throughout there is an epigrammatic force which would make palatable a less 
interesting story of human lives or one less deftly told .” — London Saturday Review. 

“A remarkable work .” — New York Times. 


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. . . Pathos deepens into tragedy in the thrilling story of ‘ God’s Fool.’ ” — Philadel- 
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ONCERNING ISABEL CARNABY. 

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BOOKS BY GRAHAM TRAVERS. 


TJZINDYHAUGH. A Novel. By Graham Travers, 

* * author of “ Mona Maclean, Medical Student,” “ Fellow Travel- 
lers,” etc. i2mo, cloth, $1.50. 


“ ‘ Windyhaugh’ shows an infinitely more mature skill and more subtle humor than 
‘Mona Maclean ’ and a profounder insight into life. The psychology in Dr. Todd’s 
remarkable book is all of the right kind; and there is not in English fiction a more 
careful and penetrating analysis of the evolution of a woman’s mind than is given in 
Wilhelmina Galbraith; but ‘ Windyhaugh’ is not a book in which there is only one 
‘ star ’ and a crowd of ‘supers.’ Every character is limned with a conscientious care 
that bespeaks the true artist, and the analytical interest of the novel is rigorously kept 
in its proper place and is only one element in a delightful story. It is a supremely 
interesting and wholesome book, and in an age when excellence of technique has 
reached a remarkable level, ‘ Windyhaugh ’ compels admiration for its brilliancy of 
style. Dr. Todd paints on a large canvas, but she has a true sense of proportion.” — 
Blackwood.' s Magazine. 

“ For truth to life, for adherence to a clear line of action, for arrival at the point to- 
ward which it has aimed from the first, such a book as ‘ Windyhaugh ’ must be judged 
remarkable. There is vigor and brilliancy. It is a book that must be read from the 
beginning to the end and that it is a satisfaction to have read.” — Boston Journal. 

“ Its easy style, its natural characters, and hs general tone of earnestness assure its 
author a high rank among contemporary novelists.” — Chicago Tributie. 

“We can cordially eulogize the spendid vitality of the work, its brilliancy, its pathos, 
its polished and crystalline style, and its remarkable character-painting.” — New York 
Home Journal. 


M 


ON A MACLEAN ’ Medical Student . 

50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 


i2mo, paper, 


“A high-bred comedy.” — New York Times. 

“ ‘ Mona Maclean ’ is a bright, healthful, winning story .” — New York Mail and 
Express. 


“Mona is a very attractive person, and her story is decidedly well told .”— San 
Francisco A rgonaut. 


“ A pleasure in store for you if you have not read this volume. The author has 
given us a thoroughly natural series of events, and drawn her characters like an artist. 
It is the story of a woman’s struggles with her own soul. She is a woman of resource, 
a strong woman, and her career is interesting from beginning to end .” — New York 
Herald. 



ELLOW TRAVELLERS . 

cloth, $1.00. 


i2mo, paper, 50 cents ; 


“ The stories are well told ; the literary style is above the average, and the 
character drawing is to be particularly praised. . . . Altogether, the little book is a 
model of its kind, and its reading will give pleasure to people of taste .” — Boston 
Saturday Evening Gazette. 

“ ‘Fellow Travellers’ is a collection of very brightly written tales, all dealing, as 
the title implies, with the mutual relations of people thrown together casually while 
traveling.” — London Saturday Review. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK, 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY’S PUBLICATIONS. 


MISS DOUGALL’S BOOKS. 


'J'HE MORMON PROPHET. i2mo. Cloth, 

$1.50. 

“ A striking story. . . . Immensely interesting and diverting, and as a romance it 
certainly has a unique power/' — Boston Herald . 

“ In * The Mormon Prophet * Miss Lily Dougall has told, in strongly dramatic 
form, the story of Joseph Smith and of the growth of the Church of the Latter-Day 
Saints, which has again come prominently before the public through the election of a 
polygamist to Congress. . . Miss Dougall has handled her subject with consummate 
skill. . . . She has rightly seen that this man's life contained splendid material for a 
historical novel. She has taken no unwarranted liberties with the truth, and has suc- 
ceeded in furnishing a story whose scope broadens with each succeeding chapter until 
the end.” — New York in ail and Express. 

“ Mormonism is not ordinarily regarded as capable of romantic treatment, but in 
the hands of Miss Dougall it has yielded results which are calculated to attract the 
general public as well as the student of psychology. . . . Miss Dougall has handled a 
difficult theme with conspicuous delicacy ; the most sordid details of the narrative are 
redeemed by the glamour of her style, her analysis of the strangely mixed character of 
the prophet is remarkable for its detachment and impartiality, while in Susannah Halsey 
she has given us a really beautiful study of nobly compassionate womanhood. We cer- 
tainly know of no more illuminative commentary on the rise of this extraordinary sect 
than is furnished by Miss Dougall’s novel ” — London Spectator. 

“ Miss Dougall may be congratulated both on her choice of a subject for her new 
book and on her remarkably able and interesting treatment of it. ... A fascinating 
story, which is even more remarkable and more fascinating as a psychological study. ” — 
The Scotsman. 


' T^HE MADONNA OF A DAY. 

^ $1.00 ; paper, 50 cents. 


i2mo. Cloth, 


“An entirely unique story. Alive with incident and related in a fresh and capti- 
vating style .” — Philadelphia Press. 

“ A novel that stands quite by itself, and that in theme as well as in artistic merit 
should make a very strong appeal to the mind of a sympathetic reader.” — Boston 
Beacon. 


T 


K BE MERMAID. 

50 cents. 


i2mo. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 


“ The author of this novel has the gift of contrivance and the skill to sustain the 
interest of a plot through all its development. ‘ The Mermaid ’ is an odd and interest- 
ing story .” — New York Times. 


T 


y HE ZEIT-GEIST. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 

“ One of the most remarkable novels.”— New York Commercial Advertiser. 


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BOOKS BY FRANK T. BULLEN 


The Log of a Sea- Waif. 

Being Recollections of the First Four Years of my Sea Life. 
Illustrated. Uniform Edition, nmo. Cloth, $1.50. 

The brilliant author of ‘ ‘ The Cruise of the Cachalot” and Idylls of the 
Sea ’ ’ presents in this new work the continuous story of the actual experiences 
of his first four years at sea. In graphic and picturesque phrases he has sketched 
the events of voyages to the West Indies, to Bombay and the Coromandel coast, 
to Melbourne and Rangoon. Nothing could be of more absorbing interest 
than this wonderfully vivid account of foks’l humanity, and the adventures and 
strange sights and experiences attendant upon deep-sea voyages. It is easy to see 
in this book an English companion to our own “Two Years before the Mast.” 

Idylls of the Sea. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“The 4 deep-sea wonder and mystery* which Kipling found in Frank T. 
Bullen’s ‘Cruise of the Cachalot’ is appreciable again in this literary mate’s 
new book, ‘Idylls of the Sea.’ We feel ourselves tossed with him at the 
mercy of the weltering elements,” etc. — Philadelphia Record. 

“ Amplifies and intensifies the picture of the sea which Mr. Bullen had 
already produced. . . . Calm, shipwreck, the surface and depths of the sea, 
the monsters of the deep, superstitions and tales of the sailors — all find a place 
in this strange and exciting book.” — Chicago Times-Herald. 

The Cruise of the Cachalot, 

Round the World after Sperm Whales. Illustrated. izmo. 
Cloth, $1.50. 

“It is immense — there is no other word. I’ve never read anything that 
equals it in its deep-sea wonder and mystery, nor do I think that any book before 
has so completely covered the whole business of whale fishing, and, at the same 
time, given such real and new sea pictures. I congratulate you most heartily. 
It’s a new world you’ve opened the door to.” — Rudyard Kipling. 

“ Written with racy freedom of literary expression and luxuriant abundance 
of incident, so that ‘ The Cruise of the Cachalot ’ becomes a story of fascinating 
vividness which thrills the reader and amuses him. The volume is no less en- 
thralling than ‘Two Years before the Mast,’ and higher praise can not be 
accorded to a story of the sea. ... ‘A book of such extraordinary merit as 
seldom comes to hand.” — Philadelphia Press. 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK. 


















































































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